Kurt Ballou’s production lends a heavy Converge influence to this stoner doom metal/D-Beat punk/hardcore fusion, but the riffs are still pure Trap Them, thanks in part to the breakdown’s haunting, Gregorian Chant-like background vocals. Everything Ballou touches sounds Converge-y, but turns to gold; [LISTEN].
A break every digger is familiar with, but one that has broad universal appeal – just as fresh today as it was when it first dropped. Shuggie, the savant, handles the vocals and instrumentation and proclaims his love from the highest mountaintop. Psychedelic and delectable in every way; [LISTEN].
A seven-year itch since Brock’s shook his frenetic self onto wax, we see the live wire still white heat charged, wasting no choppy riff to chastise the human race for its ability to repeat its tired stupid self, rape every glory, soil every piece of land and party like its 1999 in search of the same.
Relying on lyrics alone there is no way to decipher one rapper from the other. They all sound foolish saying the same thing over and over again hoping to fool the general public. The beat isn’t any better and together sounds about as appetizing as eating McDonalds everyday for the rest of your life.
Silky synth and wispy hi hats coat it in a high sheen allowing her to pour her heart out and reveal her deep seeded anguish. It’s the classic ‘I love you so much I hate you’ scenario that’s been played out for centuries, and it’s no more interesting here than in any other boring adolescent drama.
More Onika Maraj than Nicki Minaj, and revealing in a way that has nothing to do with ass and tits. It’s a decided way to open an album, and a shift in the maxim for someone who tries so desperately to hang on to status and fame. Stripped of the skin, it’s a matter of now seeing what lies beneath.
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