Reviews

Bryony Beynon

C.H.E.W. In Due Time EP

You’re flung backwards down some stairs into another room, sprung into the middle of a pit. You come to, thinking maybe four bands are playing at once but it’s all C.H.E.W, there’s just an extra frequency in there that pops up like an intrusive thought, real wacko sound only the baddest saliva animals can creepy crawl to. Doris’s nasal recriminations give way to a full sputtering throat and suddenly there are duelling riffs in five dimensions. A fastidiously choreographed meltdown executed with a similar deranged flair to IMPALERS, but way more petulant. Fuck!!! There’s an extra sub woof-woof-woof of vicious stomp. A song named for a disease you can only get from eating cat shit. Hot feedback. Is that a mosh part played backwards? You can’t feel your head. C.H.E.W have taken the hardcore palette and gone full Abstract Expressionist with it. There’s echoes of that GELD LP from last year, which makes sense because thinking about it Iron Lung put that out too. Exactly the type of factoid some punisher will whisper in your ear as you’re squeezing out the juice from these insane fractal solos. Maybe I am the punisher. Now my sweat is in your eyes and you forgot to shield your kidneys from the mass of feet and elbows and now things feel leaky but hey, that’s why you have two. Emboldened, you rip one out as an offering.

Veto What’s Going On LP

VETO hails from Dunkerque, France, and are five years deep into a largely tasteful execution of the thee Rockin’ Fast Hardcore template, which this LP continues. This wouldn’t have been out of place on the No Way Records roster, as overall it’s strong on fills and low on space, save for a few stop-start moments and a curveball couple of moments of quasi-emo yelling which I could have taken or left. You know what you’re getting when a band names a song “Play Fast and Aggressive.” You’ll know if you can handle the occasional peppering of throaty gang vocals or sung vocals or not; all in all sounds like a sweaty good time live if a little on the earnest side.

Whip Don’t Call Me EP

This is strong, belligerent and highly enjoyable. WHIP are four humans from Winnipeg and their single sounds like a contemporary basement might, replete with displeased vocals and scraped-against-concrete guitar. Sounds like the platonic ideal of the band you’d never heard of but played with on your tour and their singer spat in some dickhead’s face mid-set and now everyone’s wearing their shirt. This record eschews anything longer than two minutes in a manner leaving you uncertain as to whether that’s because long songs are a patriarchal construct or just plain they are boring. Porque no los dos? WHIP is cool.