F**K THE FACTS

Wildly prolific, socio-politically militant, and grindtastically adventurous, Ottawa's FUCK THE FACTS can't help but be one of Relapse's (and Canada's for that matter) coolest bands. Ten years in and the output is impressive as ever as the band continues to beat conventional grindcore into submission with creative flair and musical tremors that always seem to be emanating from the left. "Die Miserable", FUCK THE FACTS first full-length since 2008 "Disgorge, Mexico", is all of those things; familiar enough to be sort of comforting, yet never smelling of stagnation.

Experimental around the edges but resolutely relentless in its grinding gyrations, "Die Miserable" features another round of fret oddities and excitingly disorienting dissonance from guitarist Topon Das whose stamp on the album is a pronounced one. There is always something about the riffing style and tone that is rather unique to a FUCK THE FACTS album and "Die Miserable" is no exception. In fact, much like PRIMUS proclaimed the air slippery, on "Die Miserable" FUCK THE FACTS make six-string sounds that you can feel, like grime under the fingernails and red blotches on the skin; running the gamut from the coarse and bewildering to the fluid and melodic, both ends of which are found on "Alone". Whether moving at reckless, yet rhythmically tight, speeds with convulsing riffs (a lot of the time) or shape-shifting on a dime to more restrained tempos and moments of honest to goodness melody and melancholia ("A Cowards Existence" has got it all),"Die Miserable" seems to be careening around the corner on two wheels and in the same moment convinces with confidence that its navigation through treacherous terrain is purposeful and true. By the time you've reached Mel Mongeon's clearly spoken (in French) lines — shocking in light of her typically scathing growls — toward the end of "95" to close out the album, a strange feeling of calm washes over you and euphoric sensations arrive with the realization that it all makes sense now.

But it can never completely make sense or FUCK THE FACTS wouldn't be the band it has become today. Just when you think you can reach out and touch it "Die Miserable" either jerks away with spitefulness or vanishes into thin air before reappearing right behind you, positioning itself for another artfully assaultive flourish. On "Die Miserable" FUCK THE FACTS again bends notes to its will and makes grindcore its bitch.