Oklahoma Metropolis’s Chat Pile hail from an extended, proud Midwestern custom of sheer, unadulterated ugliness. Their music looks like a tattered, grease-stained, shotgun-blasted temper board of ’80s and ’90s noise rock. Within the quartet’s gruff, pugilistic songs you possibly can detect the eviscerating howls of the Jesus Lizard’s David Yow, the wilting bass of Amphetamine Reptile-era Helmet, and the solid-state mechanism and unrelenting meanness of Massive Black—plus slightly little bit of drop-tuned nu-metal, for good measure. Chat Pile take their title from the slag heaps of their native area, poisonous mounds of lead-contaminated mine refuse, and you’ll hear, really feel, and style that legacy of their noxious low finish: They take the sludge of bands like Melvins and Eyehategod and make it literal.
However regardless of Chat Pile’s interval influences, their music feels ragingly very important. That a lot is self-evident from “Slaughterhouse,” the lead single from their forthcoming debut album, God’s Nation. That is no pigfuck cosplay; it’s a report from an America that’s much more diseased than in noise rock’s Reagan-and-Bush-cursed heyday. The mixture of bassist Stin’s gravelly choose work and Luther Manhole’s detuned guitar looks like despair distilled. Captain Ron’s stop-start drums mimic the unwilling trudge of every day life in a capitalist hellscape, and singer Raygun Busch’s guttural growls are ache and confusion incarnate. “If we may solely fly away now,” he croaks, his voice cracking like eczema. He bellows concerning the eyes of God, the shedding of blood, the lack of escape; he lands, repeatedly, on the agonized chorus, “Hammers and grease!” Is he singing within the character of a selected tortured soul? Or just giving voice to the trauma of the nation because it bleeds out a sluggish and ignominious demise? Regardless of the case, “Slaughterhouse” feels depressingly prescient for a month like this one, as we witness the horror of a number of mass shootings. “All of the blood/All of the blood/And the fuckin’ sound, man/You always remember their eyes,” he shouts by strained larynx. “And the unhappy eyes, goddammit/And the screaming/There’s extra screaming than you’d suppose.”
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|Title||:||Chat Pile - Slaughterhouse|
|Type of file||:||Audio/Video (.mp3 .mp4)|
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