I’m in this flatline, emotionally-dead state right now where I can actually tolerate about 98% of the bullshit that punk rock throws at me. And making me angry; making me hate you is actually more of a feat than making me go all gooey and tell you you’re, like, the best. Congratulations, then, Terminal Nation, who’ve riled me to the point where I feel like throwing my stereo out the window. They play power violence; a genre prone to parameter-locked drudgery, but also one capable of incendiary ire and towering, bulge-veined greatness. Rather than play it safe, Terminal Nation have the solid gold stones to run as far from greatness as they can possible get. The vocals take the Denunzio/Dodge template and warp it til their frontman ends up sounding like an angry cartoon dog. The music is dense and ultra-manly; reminiscent of a roid-addled Kickback/Chain Of Strength hybrid that’s ready to pop off your head like the top of an over-squeezed tube of toothpaste. This is not power violence for sitting on your own, in your room and trying to stare a hole in the wall to. This is power violence to benchpress a car to; to break a shark in half to; to listen to while you end your own life by drowning in a hot tub full of protein shake. It is abominably, unutterably awful, and I can only gasp in amazement at what has been achieved here. Bravo, Terminal Nation – bravo.
