Surely one of the best kept secrets in the underground music scene is CrazySane Records, right? This little Berlin-based label, run by Chris Breuer of ear-bothers HEADS. has been quietly releasing some great records, split 7″ and EPs over the last few months and slowly building up a name for themselves.
Opening track Melt Your Mind couldn’t be more aptly titled – it’s a shred of riotous, unhinged energy that bubbles, bursts and roars. In just over 2 minutes, it’s slams home a vibrant blast of melodic metallic punk leaving your jaw on the floor. This is swiftly followed by the drum-happy clatter of Bone Chain, which sounds like Van Halen writing a pop song for Kvelertak.
Immersing themselves almost completely in a different spectrum of reality, USA Nails (the family fun time band from London – as they like to call themselves) seem content to continue morphing into a magic eye picture of warped insanity. The Swami-guitar lines of their debut have all been erased; washed in a sea of sludge.
Blanck Mass is the rebooted spectrum of Hal and Mother recording an album together (and succeeding) in hell, melting through the goddamn walls faster than you can say Game Over Man, Game Over. World Eater hits hard, full ramming speed, never letting up or letting go. It’s Crank – if Power slows down, it’s all over.
Guest post! It’s nearly the end of the year, so we asked Jack Murray gives us a rundown of his top 10 albums of 2016. From Pat Sharpe and the Turbo Hand Shandies, through to Egg Sandwich Overkill and the new album from The Outhere Brothers – he’ll be counting down the hits of this year. Boom, boom, boom – get on it son.
I’m sure in many, many, MANY years, 2016 will be studied as the “what the hell happened in THAT year?” as a history module. 2017 has got to be better, right? Thankfully, there was some good music this year, amongst all the badness (Ken McCray dying was a total bummer and you know, the other stuff) so, what better way than countdown my top 10 albums of 2016.
If the production on this was some form of mineral, it would be a mudslide; a cruel, filthy, flow that never lets up until everything is submerged in grime. The guitars let off an ear-squealing hiss of disdain throughout the 35 minute running time of Gold, whilst the bass rumbles and belches thick, slabs of mulch and the drumming is a tribal hammering of bloodied determination.