CURSED

What the hell is going on up in Canada? It seems that the powers that be up North are trying to incite a nationwide riot by partially funding the recording of one of the most pissed-off, violent and socially dissident collection of tunes to ever come from the land of beer 'n' bacon. Their healthcare system must be something special if the government is going to sponsor a band whose live performance has undoubtedly sent more than a few kids to the hospital. The really ironic thing is that the album starts off with a series of anti-government/big brother conspiracy samples strung together over the top of a murky track of distorted noise. And then the real fun begins…

The sludge-soaked, grinding, DIY-style hardcore delivered during the following nine tracks is enough to make even the most Prozac-addled mind rethink its ignorant bliss. Drop a bloody slab of meat into a tank of piranhas and you'll get the same effect provided when CURSED rips through the minute and a half ode to fury, "Night Terrors". The unrelenting frenzy continues as screamer Chris Colohan attacks the power-hungry bastards that make up the upper echelon of organized religion on "Magic Fingers". "Kill the bosses, kill the priest, kill the shepherds, save the sheep." Subtlety is obviously not this man's forte. Colohan's lyrical vehemence is widespread as he also targets the very industry in which he practices his craft with "Friends In The Music Business". Driven by a plodding groove, distorted bass and swells of abrasive feedback, this standout track oddly enough climaxes when the instruments fade out, leaving the underground's new mantra, "Don't call me, I won't call you," screaming in your eardrums. Flexing their hardcore muscles, CURSED shines on "Hegel's Bastards" and "Into The Hive" while showing a doomier (and downright fucking scary) side with "III" and "Unnecessary Person". After over twenty minutes of hatred, chaos and sonic misanthropy, CURSED ends their malevolent masterpiece by completely switching gears on the instrumental "Gutters". Bassist Don Dunham picks up the six-string for this one and intently wanders around the fretboard, hitting upon a more than slightly twisted melody/chord progression. Compared to the rest of the album, "Gutters" comes across as a melodically morbid eulogy to the violent demise perpetuated by the preceding ten tracks.

Let's face it, we live in a fucked up world. Every new day finds us sinking that much deeper in the muck and mire. At this point in time, all the kindness and charity in the world can't save us from ourselves. Hell, I could ramble on and on about the rapid decline of mankind, but it boils down to this — if you're not pissed off, you're not paying attention; and if you are paying attention, then you probably need a band like CURSED to make sense of it all. Mug a stranger and buy this goddamned album already.