Friday, August 30, 2013

Review: Discourse - Curse of Consciousness


Discourse, my friends, is brilliant. Taking the least-marketable art form of the last 20 years (that being 90s Hardcore), and making it not only attractive but alluring is nothing but pure genius. While heavier hardcore is what I want to listen to precisely 0% of the time, Discourse doesn't just kick ass: they saved their own goddamn genre from obsolescence. 

Filling the void where their contemporaries have recently fallen off (I won't name names, but we all know the bands I'm referring to), Discourse brings the same violent, primal, aggro attitude and turns it into groovy, sensual hardcore. Now, some of you may be thinking that "sensual" was a typographical error; you would be wrong. Listening to the sheer chops of "Commit to the Flames," the opening track, is incredible. The head, it bangs. And that's not all. 

When you listen to Discourse, your whole body tingles. It's a sensation of pure aggression, which is instinctively similar to which other human sensations? Sex. Have you ever heard of the term "rage erection?" Is it sociopathic? Of-goddamn-course it is, but it is literally a real thing. And that's what Discourse is: a 10 minute, 18 second, stone cold boner. 

Besides my cat, I'm the least violent person I know. My fiancee could absolutely, realistically beat the ever-living shit out of me. And I'm ok with that. But when "Nothing Fills the Void" was playing, I skyrocketed to the top of violent humans, making Ted Bundy look like a fucking poseur, and Jeffrey Dahmer look sane. I, of course, was sitting here. On this couch. Drinking a beer. But, the perfect anger and hatred that I felt with the riffs of this track were unstoppable. Entirely manic. 

"I've been condemned to live" opens the final track--the title track. This song jams like, and I mean this as the highest compliment, Zao's "Splinter Shards the Birth of Separation," except with production that allows me to hear instruments separately (and gorgeously). 

The production on this album is crisper than the cider that Satan drinks in Hell. I challenge you to find me an album that simultaneously sounds 15 years old and doesn't melt together like a fondue pot full of plastic and plastic. You won't find it, because those don't fucking exist outside of this 7".

10:18. It's over. Brilliant, terrifying release from guys who know what in the Hell they're doing.