Concrete Cross – LP

Alright so I just got this LP from Concrete Cross’ drummer, Tone, the other day after some heckling the last I saw him. I don’t even know if the shit is out in the streets yet, or what label it’s supposed to be on. I mean I think it’s a European one maybe, but I can’t even be sure. All I know for sure is that the fragments of 15 year old self that still exist within me are trying to break free right now. Something about the debut from these miscreants has awaken the want to go fast, break stuff, go faster, spit on things, throw heavy shit off things, and pick a fight with an animal that i’ll lose.

All throughout this record energy forces itself upon me and hardly lets up. There are a few moments where the speed is slowed down slightly, but don’t get me wrong… it’s still about 25 miles above the speed limit. Like the rerecorded “Cannibal Brain” for example . This is a mid paced monster that feeds the need to circle pit like no one’s watching. Another standout is the closer track “On Ice” which is as far outside the standard CC writing procedure as the record gets. Its closing riffs are like the rolling credits on some sort of black and white Italian epic.

“Sculpt The Ruins” is a perfect example of what you turn to a band  like Concrete Cross for – blistering speeds, speedy leads, and rapid fire ramblings of a madman vocalist. As mentioned before this kind of track is the type you want to do nothing but skate or ride too while rentacops chase you from your choice destination. Pure energetic headbang. And there in lies the problem for these guys. Too often are they paired up on the wrong bills with the wrong bands. I feel like their selected crowd in New York is never right for them, so they’re met with lackluster response. If they were to play to the crusty kids, or flipped brim skate punks they would be covered in more sweat then their own when they reach the end of their set list.

Anyway, if you have adrenaline and ears then this record is definitely a must have. Also the guy singing sang in bands on Wreck-Age in the 90s and the drummer plays in another band with Paul Bearer – does that give you reason enough?

The Darkest Hour (2011)

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Director: Chris Gorak
Notable Appearances: Emile Hirsch, Olivia Thirlby, Max Minghella, Rachael Taylor
Genre: Horror, Science Fiction

This movie blows. Before we get to “the why”, let’s start with “the what” (ft. Method Man). The Darkest Hour has the COOL AS SHIT concept of an invasion by invisible aliens made of energy who plow ass through the human race like a fat kid in a candy store. Unfortunately, that is the extent of the plot and worthwhile aspects of this flick. Emile Hirsch and Max Minghella play two douchie software designers who have no worthwhile skills from their career when suddenly faced with monsters from outer space. One would think that energy-based beings would be susceptible to some sort of app that tells you how many times you jerked off in the past month. Olivia Thirlby and Rachael Taylor play two females with no backstory, no character traits, no survival skills, and plenty of good looks. Basically, every douchie software designer’s wet dream. I wish I could describe for you the rest of the plot and characters here, but they don’t exist. Granted, sick lowbrow jams oftentimes come birthed from such minuscule amounts of writing, and I kind of expected this experience, but baby, I was wrong.

Straight up and down, this is one of the worst flicks I’ve seen in a while. The opening ten-to-fifteen minutes is trash; watching these two bad stereotypes of tech-savvy frat boys on their quest for babes and billions is much akin to bad porn before the clothes come off. Throughout the remaining 70 minutes, there are no directing or cinematography choices of merit and the action entails the same experience of hiding from aliens, running from aliens, and someone dying from aliens. Only later in the film, when the crew meets some random extras from The Road Warrior, do real conflicts with aliens occur and we are treated to the lamest explanation of the enemies, ever. SPOILER ALE… fuck it, who cares? The aliens aren’t energy-based creature, they just have force fields that can be disrupted with microwaves. Also, throwing pieces of another wounded alien at them will kill them? Random gaps in logic like that are all over this movie, but without the fun of camp or knowing winks at buffoonery.

There was an idea somewhere in all of this… a good idea… invisible aliens made of energy… why not explore the notion of intangible enemies and how to fight them by manipulating wave-fields? Why not make this a cavalcade of clever ways for these completely foreign beings to wreak havoc and the heroes to outwit them with the skills they possess from their normal lives? Why not just get Bruce Campbell to show up and say funny shit? Nah, let’s just awkwardly wedge Emile Hirsch into the first screenplay someone throws at us.  Not worth your time, even ironically.  One star.

The Last House On The Left (1972)

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Director: Wes Craven
Notable Appearances: Nameless
Genre: Horror, B-Movie

To put the story as simply as possible; two girls get raped and murdered by some escaped convicts.  And quite gruesomely at that.  Afterwards, the family of one of the deceased exacts their revenge, just as gruesomely, if not more fantastically.  It’s been just over forty years since this film was released and since then we’ve seen that story repeated many times (most notably in the good old Deathwish franchise – RIP Charles Bronson), but it’s the practically home movie quality cinematography that sets this film apart and turns shoddy acting and the barest of plot into an American classic of abject horror.  This is pure, unadulterated, b-grade filmmaking at it’s best.  There is no pretense or attempt to try and seem low-grade and underground here because they were truly flying by the seat of their pants and working with the barest of essentials necessary to make a movie.  If Goddard’s Breathless signaled the rise of the street-intellectual-auteur, than Wes Craven’s The Last House On The Left signaled the birth of the demented-street-kid-auteur.  The horror in this film comes not from a bizarre situation or a fantastical monster, but instead from terribly real leches of society putting our protagonists through sickening experiences of shame and suffering.  Watching this film in 1972 must have been unimaginably horrifying, but watching it today is to see the beginnings of the “torture-porn” sub-genre of horror films.  Total exploitation.  Every drawback of this film, every negative standard of movie-making, turns into a positive due to it’s style and attitude.  As a viewer, you revel in it’s inept moments and bask in it’s demented splendor.  Hypothetically, it’s a perfect film because whenever it goes wrong, it gets better.  It’s use of music being one of the best examples.  Absolutely ridiculous choices come across as irreverent and such comedic instances, in the face of far darker occurrences, create an insane tone.  It’s not dark comedy, it’s black madness.  What a totally fucked up movie.
Five stars.

The Wicker Man (1973)

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Director: Robin Hardy
Notable Appearances: Christopher Lee
Genre: Thriller, Horror

For some reason I’ve managed to make it through a quarter-century without seeing this great work of cult filmmaking and if for nothing else than that, I regret the way I have been living this life.  What we’ve got here is an oddball feature about a devout Catholic police officer setting out to an isolated island off the coast of Scotland to find a missing girl.  That’s a pretty simple plot that becomes twisted into an allegory about the effects of religion, both positive and negative.  It expresses the strength and security which it can provide – both mentally/physically within the individual and within a society – while simultaneously propelling certain misguided souls into madness and intolerance.  The most compelling aspect of which is that this film does not discriminate between the two; leaving it up to us to decide who is the madman and who is the stalwart protector.  The director’s concern with the subtext is telling and he should be commended for his success in expressing that, but the meaning tends to overtake the medium.  It’s storytelling method lies somewhere between Hitchcockian thriller and 70s acid trip filmmaking.  Using this technique, it does at times touch the heights of David Lynch’s finer moments, but often this film doesn’t know what it is doing.  Things don’t feel foreboding enough for this to be a horror film, but it’s subject matter doesn’t allow for it to be considered much else.  The tone gets lost and some scenes stretch too long while others feel horribly thin and rushed.  The obvious budgetary limitations may be to blame for the latter.  They remade this pretty recently with Hollywood backing and Nicholas Cage in the main role (I’m pretty sure about that…), but I’m willing to wager that money and star power did not improve upon those points.  Besides, this one’s got Christopher Lee in it.  He was Dracula AND Saruman!  Totally awesome; that would be the best way to describe the ending of this film and for those who have yet to experience it’s excellence, I won’t give any of it away.  In the end, it’s an uneven film, but this is a singular, unimitatable affair whose achievements far overshadow it’s shortcomings.
Four out of five stars.

Note: This review was written in 2010

Wu-Tang – 7 Deadly Chambers Pt.I: Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) (Loud 1993)

36 chambers frontWe all know that rap intros are pointless and long-winded so let me get right to it; The Wu-Tang Clan from 1992-1997 is the greatest musical thing to ever exist.  As a tribute to this dynasty of musicology, I will be reviewing the first seven releases from the clan; their first two group albums, plus the first five solo albums.  Let us begin with the most important hip-hop album to ever be released; Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers).

36 Chambers starts off like no other hip-hop album before it; with a startling kung-fu movie sample directly into Bring Tha Ruckus, the first of another dozen lethal cuts.  Now, I’m no hip hop genius, but near as I can tell, the instrumental style on this album was, much like Jesus, a child with no father; being birthed purely from the cosmic aether and the weed-drenched mind of Prince Rakeem aka The Ruler Zig-Zag-Zig Allah aka The Scientist aka Abbott aka Rzarector aka RZA Razor Sharp.  Who, by the way, is the best hip-hop producer to ever live, as well as the finest actor of our generation.  The instrumentals are dirty, dark, tough as nails, and feature bizarre nondescript noises that often make me contemplate whether the Rizz listened to power electronics like Whitehouse prior to taking his seat behind the boards.  Whatever his inspiration for these random noises was, the combination of those with his low-rent 8O8 machine, choice piano loops (often played by himself), and the occasional soul sample created a watershed moment in hip-hop.  Basically every hip-hop album coming out of New York from 94-99 bears hints of RZA’s signature style, but look no further than Kanye West’s early production work and it’s dominance of the rap game, across the entire nation, to see a direct line from early Wu to popular music at large.

But as dark and hardcore as his style sounds, it was also fun!  As perfectly exemplified on track number two; Shame On A Nigga.  Bouncing horns and an almost carnival-music like zaniness to the overall production of this track is basically the only way that anyone should ever be introduced to the most… the most… just the most Wu-Tang member of the Wu-Tang Clan; Ol’ Dirty Bastard.  Filthy and scattered; his style was loco.  The man could croon unintelligible gibberish with such soul and then drop the most hilarious and excessively un-PC lines imaginable at the drop of a hat.  I never heard an ODB moment that wasn’t perfect.  I’ll get back to Dirt McGirt later.

Track three takes things into a different direction.  Here we have a solo cut by The Genius aka The GZA, whose name implies a level of seriousness that was just as essential to the Wu as ODB’s leadership in the comedy department.  Clan In Da Front highlights the lyricism of the group, which is often overlooked when you have crazy production choices like kung-fu chops and pitch-shifted soul samples.  And while The Genius’s style is highly commendable and deserving of a track all to his own, what makes the clan shine shine shine is the fact that there are 9 members who are all delivering their own particular brand of lyrics + flow.  Which is where tracks like Wu-Tang: 7th Chamber come into play; seven members show off their skills, one after another, with no chorus.

Raekwon starts things off with his street-wise (even moreso than the others) style that focuses on hardcore criminology and inventive slang while Method Man follows him using his smooth, meandering flow and charismatic wit.  Then, out of the shadows, comes my favorite member of the clan; Inspectah Deck.  As Meth later comments on this album; Deck is the kind of guy who’ll calmly sit back and observe what’s going on around him and then hop up out of nowhere and “take you to court” – never the frontpiece, always the surprise hit.  Deck’s verse’s on this album don’t have the trendsetting style of Ghostface and Raekwon or the charisma of Method Man or ODB, but what they do have is a clockwork composition and genuine intensity.  Plus some sick internal rhymes and timing-shifts straight out of a math-rock album.  During the Wu’s golden years, Deck was the underrated member who rocked every guest spot on the block.  Much like ODB, I am NOT done pontificating about this gentleman.

I have to admit that until recently, I never fully appreciated Ghostface Killah’s style.  The man was a pioneer of the NYC’s crime-oriented hip-hop, but unlike many who fell into the traps of sub-genres focusing on being a gangsta or getting too thugged out, Ghost spoke of illegal activity and street life with a much more pure and meaningful attitude – this is where I come from, this is what I’ve done, but I don’t glorify it, and I don’t encourage it.  Couple that with his sick penchant for connecting completely unrelated things that happen to rhyme, and you’ve got a class A rapper.  Unfortunately, I have to get real for a second when I say that RZA, as a rapper, is definitely a step down from the front runners of the Wu (maybe class A-?).  He has a definite skill with choosing words and assembling them into a good order to be delivered, but the problem is, he is not a fantastic performer.  His verses are usually delivered in a forced or awkward manner and he too often relies on short periods between simple rhymes and no matter how expensive the words get, that aspect reeks of an underdeveloped artist.

But real quick; let’s talk about the “killer tape” skit, that starts off 7th Chamber.  I’m normally not a fan of skits on hip hop albums, but Wu-Tang figured out how to do it well. This little ditty starts off with Raekwon harassing an obviously inebriated Method Man about a copy of the movie The Killer which he has lent him and wants returned. The two are soon interrupted by Ghostface and U-God who share that an associate has just been shot in the head. Between U-God deadpanning “is he is he is he dead?” and Ghostface referring to everyone and everything as “God” (Yo God, what’s up God? It’s the God, God, word is bond); the whole exchange starts off as bizarre, inane, gibberish, but after a few listens it starts to come across as the MASH of the ‘hood. I feel like uninitiated suburban kids get an even better experience from this than those “in the know” as more (possibly unintentional) layers of comedy stem from that ignorance. Pulling high-risk shit like this, and succeeding, is why this album is so ludicrous and successful.

Following 7th Chamber (which concludes with ODB & GZA verses that continue the path the two tread on their earlier tracks), the album takes a big turn with both positive and negative effects. Here we have the track Can It Be All So Simple; a subdued and wistful track about the highs and lows of trying to live the dream of a drug-dealer turned rapper. Both Raekwon and Ghostface deliver tight, vivid verses that make you understand their longings for the good life and regrets about some of the decisions they’ve made. However, this sledgehammer of a track has always failed to make me FEEL what they are talking about. Perhaps it is just too ham-handed to shine. The idea and the beat are great; it’s just the overall sum of it’s parts falls short. Later, the two decided to bust a remix out on Raekwon’s Only Built For Cuban Linx… I wonder how that went….

At this point the astute listener might be asking himself “I thought there were NINE members of The Wu-Tang Clan? Why have I only experienced SEVEN different styles?” Well, Da Mystery Of Chessboxin’ will quickly solve that with a lead-off verse by U-God (his only full verse on the album) that comes at a startling contrast to the other members. Baby U’s deep, resonant vocals and relaxed style are an excellent counterpoint to all the hyped-up, nasal passages recited by the other members (see: Deck’s slamming verse which hits immediately following U-God). If someone were to judge U-God based purely only this appearance alone, that person would probably think he was A) a really good rapper and B) a “psychopathic thinker” as Method Man puts it. Unfortunately (or fortunately?), U-God was incarcerated for most of the recording of 36 Chambers so he barely made it onto the record and he walks away looking like a king. Closing out this track is U’s partner in anonymity; Masta Killa. By far the most mysterious member of the clan, Killa makes one appearance on this record and it’s fucking awesome. Killa was mad young when this record happened and apparently had never rapped before; he was just friends with the clan. The story goes that Cappadonna and Killa were vying for the same appearance on the LP and while Donna fell asleep that night, Killa stayed up all night writing his verse. When the morning came, he slayed Cappachino and solidified his place in the clan. His flow is on point, his delivery precise, and his lyrics are tight and well-thought out; a true Mastah Killa, indeed. As Killa grows up, his style becomes more and more of a dynamic and individualistic approach, and it’s beautiful to experience, but for now he’s just HUNGRY as shit and it comes through in his single grand slam to close off this track.

And so it goes for the majority of the rest of the album. The listener is assaulted from all angles by various takes on the central theme of the clan; a bizarre hybrid of comic books, kung-fu flicks, street life, and themes from The Nation of Islam. Wu Tang Clan Ain’t Nuthin’ Ta Fuck With and Protect Ya Neck are two of the best tracks on this album, following the pattern of Chessboxin’ and 7th Chamber, while Method Man is a more lighthearted and comedic solo joint from Johnny Blaze himself (that’s Method Man… in case you are braindead). Tearz is another melancholy track in the vein of Can It Be All So Simple, and much the same, I find it to be sub-par, but in this instance, it’s even less on par. The verses are just not great and the overall production and instrumentation is weak. I definitely consider this to be the worst track on the album. However, the clan does find their sweet spot in the “more emotional track” department with the best hip hop song ever recorded, CREAM. Paragraph break!

CREAM is an insanely good jam composed of one of the simplest beats/samples in the history of hip hop (The Charmel’s As Long As I’ve Got You written by Isaac Hayes and David Porter), but it has been manipulated to perfection by The RZA. Two tiny moments in the aforementioned soul standard have been chosen beautifully (one for the intro, the other for the entirety of the rest of the song) and looping the latter creates an entirely different musical creature. Unlike a lot of samples in hip hop that just take a song’s major verse or chorus and run with it, plucking this one tiny feather births an entirely different bird. And then you can add Method Man’s insanely catchy chorus, which gives flight to the best slang terminology that hip hop ever created; Cash Rules Everything Around Me. Beyond the simple interpretation of “I don’t give a fuck about anything except money”, the phrase minimizes and simplifies the concept of “in the world that I live in, money is the most important thing because it controls your standard of living and freedom and while all I want to do is be free and happy and live without worry, I’ve got to play the game and take whatever I can to survive”. Whether you’re slinging crack in the ghetto or roofing in the suburbs, you can relate to that concept. Plus it sounds cool. Oh, and then Raekwon and Inspectah Deck deliver two of the best verses on the record.

36 chambers back

Raekwon apparently sat on this beat for years, having his heart set on rhyming over it, knowing it was gonna be gold. While it certainly shows, and all apologies to The Chef, my man Deck kills it here. This verse charts the entirety of a thousand other rapper’s careers (starting from nothing, getting involved in illegal activities to get ahead, trying to escape that life, and then returning to teach the next generation about a better path) through Deck’s compositional standards; detailed internal rhyme schemes, a tight “blast out of the gate” intro, unrelenting mid-section with on-point flow and smooth, not simple, rhymes, and a beautiful, philosophical, melancholy, while still hard closing. My own, and many other’s, favorite/greatest hip-hop song, ever.

Peace to all the Gods; we out.

Altered Boys – Second 7″

alteredboysYo this record is bananas. Altered Boys are the best current hardcore band right now because they keep it simple, and keep it raw. No changes in the production quality on this one (because I think all the tracks from the first slab were recorded at the same time) – everything sounds gritty, hard, and still in your face without relying on parlor tricks. When their demo dropped I was so worried that they would fall into that “turn everything up to 300% and then master it in a tin can” shit for their next release. It makes me happy there are still good bands out there who want to sound like themselves.

All the cuts on this are sick. “The Blame” is straight in your face for the first half until everything breaks out and the 1776 snare mosh hits you. You wanna load your bayonette with the stick thing, blast a shot in the air, grab the stick thing again and reload to fire another shot, but then song straight jumps back to hyper drive and blasts you once more. “Powerless” was sick when they recorded it for the Joy Boys comp, but it sounds so much cooler with the vocals now echoing through the rafters. I just wish they had a sound guy to make this happen live for them. “Timebomb” is a familiar old friend which is just a punk ripper with some good fast floorpunching mosh at the end. Nothing to complain about there.

My one and one beef with the record hits during “Get Used To It” – Geoff does one of those hardcore grunts during the intro that wasn’t there on the demo and it really drives me nuts. I don’t know why. Fuck you, Geoff, but you won’t read this anyway. The final track “Ugliness” is my favorite shit of the record – an epic ballad in terms of Altered Boys songs coming in at 2:10. I honestly thought this shit was a cover when I first heard it because it was so different from the rest of their stuff. This one’s a slower groove anthem that keeps your head nodding. It makes you wanna strap on your boots and creepy crawl around the dusty pit of a New Brunswick basement. This little diddy rounds out the rest of the 7″ perfectly. I also didn’t know someone could put the word “fucking” into a song so many times. Punk as FUCK.

Get this from Deranged. Listen to it here. Shouts to the Newbridge scene.

Bad Religion – True North LP


When I heard that Bad Religion was releasing a new album so quick after their last one, The Dissent Of Man, I was a little worried. Yeah, I was part of the minority that did enjoy that album, but since their records are generally a bit more spaced out these days I thought that True North sound a bit rushed. After reading an interview with founding member Brett Gurewitz a few months prior to True North‘s release my hopes soared sky high.  When fellow California punk band Pennywise submitted their latest album to his label, Epitaph, he said he was instantly inspired. Their straight forward and uncomplicated punk record made him want to write a BR record similar to No Control.

Now it’s no secret I’m a BR fanatic, I love everything they do. Yeah they may have gone through lesser periods of their career but they still consistently put out good records. Regardless of some minor stylistic changes they are still all pretty awesome through and through, and let’s face it, it’d be impossible for them to release 15 versions of Suffer and still exist 32 years after their formation.

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