BRAT

The modern era's relentless lust for instant gratification does not always treat new bands with the patience that they deserve. In 2024, when BRAT emerged from New Orleans shadows, they were far from fully formed. Announcing the arrival of their self-styled "bimboviolence" as a fresh, subversive and feminist force in the realms of grindcore and death metal, they grabbed the metal media's attention easily enough, but debut mini-LP "Social Grace" fell some way short of backing up the hype with music of enduring substance. Led by charismatic frontwoman Liz Selfish, BRAT were promising a wholesale flipping of extreme, gore-drenched metal's sexual politics without actually delivering it. But the best ideas take time to evolve, and two years on, "Manslayer" is exactly the ferocious statement of intent that was prematurely heralded the first time around. From its magnificently garish cartoon artwork to its furious dissecting of misogynist man's squirming flesh, this is a long-awaited and vividly executed turning of the tables.

Admittedly, the history of death metal and horror-driven extremity is littered with so many female corpses that BRAT will have to knock out many more albums of this caliber to come remotely close to evening the score. But what a way to start. "Manslayer" is ragged, rowdy and relentlessly bilious, as Selfish spits her incensed diatribes and gleeful tales of bloody revenge over a brilliantly diverse and sustained deathgrind assault. With filthy riffs that nod frequently to the gruesome pioneering of AUTOPSY and PUNGENT STENCH while also saluting the gnarliest end of the crusty hardcore scene, BRAT have upgraded the often pedestrian squall of "Social Grace" and produced a master class in unsavory brutality.

There are numerous short, startling bursts of riff-driven horror, from the opening throat-slice of "Aileen Wuornos" to the mutant thrash attack of "Media Slop", but it is more sophisticated and muscular moments that really stick to the spinal column. "Trophy Hunting" is a fabulous eruption of old-school morbidity and malice with irresistibly frayed edges and a demented vocal from Selfish; "Asking For Hell" is a bruising, hardcore sledgehammer enshrouded with razor-wire feedback and lobotomized SLAYER-isms; and "Manslayer (Hell Hath No Fury)" is a mini-manifesto with the sharpest of teeth. "The bitch you spurned will make you pay!" roars Selfish, as riffs pile up around her like an avalanche of severed limbs. Similarly, "Femicidal Vengeance" is a fizzing, offal-spattered dose of old-school macabre, with one eye on the mosh-pit and the other nailed to the nearest tree, as guitarist Brenner Moate rattles through a dizzying repertoire of scurrilous, deathly tricks and skin-stripping lead work.

A huge leap forward from their early efforts and a smart show of conceptual strength, "Manslayer" is the real starting point for BRAT's campaign to level the murderous playing field. In truth, "bimboviolence" seems like a rather thin description for an album that packs such a jaw-juddering, throat-ripping punch. This bitch is taking no prisoners.