Reviews

Disastro Sonoro

Desolacion Desolacion 12″

Now, this is a record I had been waiting for, and I am quite pleased to have been graced with the opportunity to review it, which can be read as yet another sign that I might be becoming the official in-house crust annalist here (a noble position I’d humbly take, of course). DESOLACION is from Buenos Aires, Argentina, and is made up of members of the excellent RUINAS and the lesser-known CLAUSTROPHOBIA. Expectedly, DESOLACION plays dirty stenchcore for the true believers of the genre, those who gave up on soap a long time ago and embraced a life of devotion to filthy crust, a bit monastic in essence but with more booze and better-looking jackets. The music is downtuned, dark, and offers a good balance of fast, thrashing, gruff crust and slower, brutal metal-crust. The sound of RUINAS clearly informs this first LP that must be seen as an heir of the meaningful ’00s stenchcore revival, in line with the more BOLT THROWER-influenced school. STORMCROW or FEMACOFFIN are not far away sometimes, while CANCER SPREADING and FATUM definitely got good seats to the gig as well. The production is fairly raw at times, and this unprocessed authenticity gives the album a genuine punk vibe that feels fresh—well, in a fetid fashion—and primeval. This is for the crust lifers.

Motron Who’ll Stop the Rain LP

The second album from this Motörcharged metal punk band from Varese, Italy featuring various members from PIOGGA NERA, KONTATTO, DEVOID OF THOUGHT, and more. This sounds a lot like if you took the gruff-beyond-gruff vocals from CRUDE SS, distorted them even deeper on the EXTREME NOISE TERROR spectrum, and then set them atop a far more metallic and rock’n’rage-driven crustcore peak, with riffs galore and sharp quick solos all sewn together with tight playing. A little less raw and more polished than their first album Eternal Headache, both in terms of the recording and the songs themselves, the fourteen tracks speed, crush, and rock, culminating in their take on a classic NABAT song. The lyrics are blunt: attacking war, scene problems, cops and the ever-relatable punk needs of drugs and a hangover-killing next-day hair of the dog. All in fun, there’s a wild “if you’re only in it for the lyrics…fuck off” warning on the lyric sheet, which is a wild inversion of the ’80s and ’90s “if you’re only in it for the music, fuck off.” Sadly, it’s hard to fathom where punk has landed in the 21st century—anyone is drawn to it at this point by the lyrics, but perhaps there are still (and more power to them) ancient diehards keeping close monitor from their squat somewhere in Europe, whom modern late stage capitalism has yet to pry loose. It’s an odd warning, like “hey don’t judge us too closely,” but with a crust skeleton riding a motorcycle on the cover next to a beer bottle on a chain. I think the party was clearly stated from the outset, and it meets it in, ahem, (ace of) “spades.” It is a fun, raging, rocking listen.