The Twin Dracula – Hell Hath All Fury


Hell Hath All Fury_RingMaster ReviewAs they started the year, UK rockers The Twin Dracula end it with a ferocious slab of noise bred, punk fuelled rock ‘n’ roll. This time it is courtesy of new EP Hell Hath All Fury, four tracks which tenaciously roar and aggressively tempt as they remind all what an exciting and sadly still majorly unrecognised band they are.

Formed in 2012, the quartet took little time in arousing attention and eager appetites for their raw rock incitement through a fierce live presence and debut EP Introducing. Its success and potential was equalled and built upon by its successor TTD​/​GFY, and both in turn surpassed in sound and invention by the Death Is Our Client EP which was unleashed at the beginning of 2015. With bands such as Kid Dynamite, Wipers, Rocket From The Crypt, Propagandhi, and The Bronx potent inspirations, the encounter showed a new adventure and mature imagination brewing within The Twin Dracula songwriting and sound, one in full cry now through Hell Hath All Fury.

The EP opens up with Catholic Discipline, a seriously swift incitement which more is an introduction to the release than an individual statement, though to be fair its predatory stalking of the senses and vocal ire more than wakes an ever ready appetite for The Twin Dracula fury. The sonic wind buffets ears for a breeze over a minute before flowing straight into the quickly thrilling tempest of Liars. The track begins offloading jabbing beats from its first breath as a storm of dirty riffs blows, that the vehicle for seriously tantalising grooves and a volatile rhythmic incitement. In turn this draws in a great the blend of enraged punk vocals and a gripping web of hooks and grooves to get greedy over. The band’s sound has never seen a lacking of such attributes but here the tapestry is more creatively involved and imaginative than ever as the band entwines a broad array of noise and rock ‘n’ roll bred flavours.

From one impressive track to another as the metallic hues closing off the second track is superbly contrasted by the more punk pop/alternative rock welcome of Alura. Without defusing that potent tempting, band and track soon weave in fiercer and more aggressively tenacious elements into the infection; their punk ‘n’ roll again taking on an almost kaleidoscopic quality in its impassioned and compelling storm.

   You’ll Never Defeat The Cobras arrives to complete the EP; it another track which evolves and dances around with persistently rapid infusions of new ideation and flavours ranging from metal and melodic rock to hardcore, noise, and punk rock. The track is irresistible, its sinews veering on the barbarous at times and melodic adventure perpetually seductive as it caresses and sears ears, whilst rhythms and vocals, in their own individual ways, entrance with anthemic prowess. It is a mighty end to Hell Hath All Fury, a dramatic and thrilling finish to an equally scintillating incitement.

The Twin Dracula just gets better and better, release by release. Time for all to get bitten we suggest.

The Hell Hath All Fury EP is available now @

Pete RingMaster 22/11/2015

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False Flags – Hexmachine

artwork_RingMaster Review

Casting belligerent revelry in a tempest of hardcore, punk metal, and noise rock within debut EP Hexmachine, UK quartet False Flags quickly suggest they are a raging on the ear that giving attention to can only be rewarding. It is a five track causticity loaded with noise infested hooks and discordance fuelled enterprise that snarls and gnaws on the senses with a combination of familiar and fresh ferocity. Major surprises are scarce, originality in some ways slim, but fair to say band and release stir up a very healthy appetite for their uncompromising persuasion of sound and intent.

Hailing from Leeds, False Flags emerged from the ashes of Red Stars Parade, Whores Whores Whores, and Year of the Man some when around 2011. Drawing on inspirations from bands such as Unsane, Breather Resist, Botch, and Coalesce, False Flags saw its members exploring new avenues for their hardcore bred ideation and adventure; better explained by guitarist Charles Pritchard, “after the break-ups of our previous bands in Leeds and all previously being friends from the DIY scene here, we wanted to form a band that took influence more from the noise rock / discordant hardcore end of the spectrum.” It was an aim soon finding success and a quickly growing following to a live presence which including sharing stages with the likes of Noothgrush, Narrows, and Envy. Long anticipated, Hexmachine is their first studio unleashing, a fierce roar on broader spotlights which more than lives up to the buzz their shows have bred.

The EP erupts with Earl Black, the opener emerging from a distant sonic haze in a brawl of thumping rhythms and caustic sonic violation. It is an assault bound in an infectious tenacity and lure too even though the vocals of Chris Jenkinson are throat raw, every syllable bearing the blood of his vocal chords as around him the guitars twist a mesh of flavours from punk to metal to heavy rock. Pritchard’s fingers keep song and imagination busy with his prowess on string as too the dark bass tempting of Mark Snellgrove, his prowling invention superbly aligned to the scything swings of drummer Mike McGoran. First impression of the track is strong, second great with it further impressing with each subsequent play.

The same applies to the following Last Screen Goddess. It makes a bolder entrance, beats badgering ears from its first breath as riffs and grooves entwine in a web of temptation. More predatory in gait and energy than its predecessor, the track is a cantankerous involvement which again only becomes more compelling over time. It is probably fair to say that it lacks the same imagination as the first song in the bulk of its body but saves that for a passage where everything twists around each other in a riveting and bruising noise infested trespass of the senses. Satisfaction is only left full across its bellow and filled again by the confrontation of Fate (Has a Driver). Like a blaze seeded in Sofy Major like rock ‘n’ roll and the scarring contagion of The Great Sabatini, the track heftily pleases; its grooves and bass rabidity especially incendiary sparking an even greedier appetite by this point.

Pet Wolf sculpts its barbarous infestation of air and ears from a similar canvas to the last song but turns it into a much more volcanic and volatile proposition veined by southern hued, sludge coated grooves. Bass and drum endeavour is as bewitching and punishing as the sonic incursion courtesy of the guitar, it all led by the harsh vocal and lyrical devilment. It is a great bullying which continues in the noise/punk inferno of Namedropper. Once more contagious hooks and flaming grooves join barbarous rhythms and vocal abrasion to create an assault as addictive as it is debilitating.

From one great track to another as Phone My Wallet brings Hexmachine to a rousing and brutal end, the track a bedlam of tasty repetitive grooves and intrusive hooks amidst a raging storm of voice, rhythms, and intensity. It sums up the False Flags sound in one invasive blow and ensures the EP leaves on a lofty plateau.

With a want for a touch more bold originality and diversity to Hexmachine the only slight wish of the EP it is an impressive and thoroughly enjoyable introduction to False Flags. With their pedigree and open talent, it already feels like the emergence of a unique character to their sound is on the cards; another reason to be confidently excited by the band.

Hexmachine is available from November 20th @

Pete RingMaster 20/11/2015

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Japanese Fighting Fish – U Ain’t Gonna Win This

JFF_RingMaster Review

It has been a long two years since UK psyche twisters Japanese Fighting Fish set ears and passions ablaze with their album Day Bombs; a time where the band has never been far away from ears at The RR to be fair but too long to wait for something new from a band who to that point had only brought something unique and invigorating to the British music scene. Finally the wait is over though with the extremely anticipated single U Ain’t Gonna Win This about to uncage its devilry, and guess what… Japanese Fighting Fish are still amongst the most imaginative, inspiring, and yes warped bands around today.

Really that is no surprise as their 2011 debut album Just Before We Go MAD was a bold and virulent escapade of creative devilment and sonic psychosis too; rich enslaving qualities taken to another level by Day Bombs two years later. It is a surprise that they alone have not made the Leeds-born, London-based outfit a house hold name and passion, and if you add an impressive live presence which has seen them play with the likes of Space Hog, Wild Beasts, The Stranglers, De La Soul, and UB40, as well as ignite venues in their own name and right, it is a mystery. Now with the exotic spicery and revelry of U Ain’t Gonna Win This things might and should be about to change.

Front Cover_Win This_RingMaster Review   A teaser for their next album Swimming with Piranhas which is scheduled for release at the end of March 2016, U Ain’t Gonna Win This takes all the prize elements of those previous albums and their hosts of singles, and twists and hones them into a new kind of JJF temptation. From its first step of its erotic prowl, the bass is sonically gurning and guitars splattering spots of sonic tempting on the senses and imagination. The distinctive inviting growl of Karlost is just as swiftly to the compelling mix; his unique tones courting sound and ears as beats from Al jab and probe the same. The virulent bounce to the track’s carnival-esque stalking has feet and hips involved from the off; its funk spawned gait and noir jazz air simply chains of seduction, whilst slithers of noise rock, alternative pop, and psych punk only thrill as they entangle the maelstrom of imagination and enterprise to matching success.

An exploration of split personalities whilst also making a “homage to boxing greats like Ali, and Rocky “, the song is an alchemy of devilment, an infestation of crazed ingenuity that creeps into and manipulates every pore and brain cell. The same applies in a different way to its companion on the single Queen Marilyn, the song a dirty grunge seeded blaze of desert rock with more than a scent of Queens Of The Stone Age to it, if a psychotic and bedlamic version. The track rumbles along, throwing out increasingly gripping hooks like sonic confetti, rhythms barging away within the mix too as Karlost spreads his sandy tones.

As in U Ain’t Gonna Win This, the guitars of Gareth Mochizuki Ellmer and Karlost captivate and provocatively suggest whilst the bass of Matt creeps with salacious intent through the swinging raps of Al. It is a combination united by the band’s off-kilter imagination and craft into creating arguably the best single of 2015 and an already impatient anticipation for Swimming with Piranhas.

The Japanese Fighting Fish are back and irrepressibly better than ever, and even more inventively deranged.

U Ain’t Gonna Win This is released November 13th via CDbaby @

Pete RingMaster 13/11/2015

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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The St Pierre Snake Invasion – A Hundred Years A Day

 Photo Lor Nov

Photo Lor Nov

No doubt Halloween 2015 will be noted for numerous reasons though few maybe as thrilling to a great many people as that day in time being the moment that the long awaited debut album from The St Pierre Snake Invasion was uncaged. Fans have been waiting for a fair time to chew on its noisy dessert whilst without realising, British rock ‘n’ roll has been similarly biding time for a release like it to re-ignite its potent but smouldering landscape. A Hundred Years A Day is that incitement, a furious punk ‘n’ roll blaze of noise and alternative rock that takes all the potential of the band’s previous encounters to a new volcanic plateau.

The Bristol hailing quintet’s sound has always been an incendiary challenge on the senses and imagination, a riveting and intoxicating roar which is like that rebellious friend you know your parents and the bland norm will take an instant dislike to, especially as they lead you into mischievous deeds and salacious habits. The St Pierre Snake Invasion creates music which is brash, belligerent, and increasingly compelling, with primal beauties like A Hundred Years A Day the glorious result.

Formed in 2010, it was with debut EP Flesh the following year that The St. Pierre Snake Invasion lit, as for so many, our fires, stoking them for bigger lustful reactions with its outstanding successor Everyone’s Entitled To My Opinion in 2013. Such its continuing presence in our for pleasure playlist it is hard to believe it has been another couple of years until opening of curtains on the sonic theatre of A Hundred Years A Day. But it has and the wait has been well worth the impatience offered, a recognition needing only opener Thanks But The Answer’s No to prove.

cover_RingMaster ReviewThe song smothers ears in an initial noise smog from within which, a steely nagging groove springs its bait. As the mighty rhythmic pokes of drummer Sam James batter rising riffs, the ever distinctive vocal roar of Damien Sayell leaps out. In no time the track is stomping with heavy anthemic feet and hip swaying inducement, the guitars of Szack Notaro and Patrick Daly spinning an inescapable web of enticement for body and emotions. It is a typical TSPSI proposal in devilment and potently fresh and unique in design, even as a dirty noise rock storm.

The brilliant start never misses a persuasive beat as David Ickearumba swaggers in next on a thumping of beats as a tangy mesh of guitar wraps the calmer but no less zealous delivery of Sayell. Amongst them, the dark, slightly bestial bass temptation cast by Mark Fletcher grabs ears and an already enlivened appetite for the encounter; it’s throaty beckoning an especially potent seduction in nothing but thick lures fuelling the song. With the voice of Sayell showing another range of its psychotic mastery of expression, emotion, and ears, the track produces a rock ‘n’ roll contagion with a healthy dose of volatility to it, that tempestuousness more vocal in the stalking delight of When I See A Sycophant Fly. Bass and drums lead a swarm of sonic stings, a perpetual union even as the track swings between mellower intimidation and infectious drama as prowling confrontations of intensity line its cynical air. Both guitarists add great backing vocals across song and album, here adding calm and unpredictable breath to match the increasingly fiery maze of sound. Like a mix of Nick Cave, The Melvins, and The Dropper’s Neck, another pinnacle is sculpted within A Hundred Years A Day, the album three for three at this point.

Rock ‘n’ Roll Workshops is pure manna for noise punk fiends, its rhythmic shuffle alone irresistible and its De Staat like energy and devilry the perfect courting of feet and the passions. Under the further potent lure of Sayell’s presence, the track bounces around like a dog with a vet’s finger up its bum, exhausting and inflaming as it leads to the glorious devil bred croon of Sex Dungeons & Dragons. The darker hues of a Birthday Party and schizo charm of Mclusky collude here as the band spin a tale of intrigue, musically and narratively, in turn enticing and inciting ears and senses at every turn of craft and imagination. Again diversity upon A Hundred Years A Day is rich and compelling yet still only TSPSI in touch and character, as shown of course by the track’s successor Like A Rag To A Red Bull, it another sonic sandstorm littered with bone splitting rhythms and at forty odd seconds more effective and arousing than most multi-minute proposals elsewhere.

Jesus, Mary & Joseph Talbot has the body throwing shapes like a rag doll in the hands of a child, manipulating limbs like a crazed puppeteer as the skills of the band work resourcefully on thoughts and passions. Listening to the track you wonder if The Stooges were starting out now, this is what they would be inspired by, a wonder turning to a convinced idea as The Great Procrastinator matches the powerful success of its predecessor with its own slavery of the listener. A song which recalls early seeds of the band, songs like Last Words Of A Bent Cop from the Flesh EP, it soon builds its own particular compulsion of enterprise and intrusive devilry gripped by virulent contagion.

Eight tracks in an truthfully there has been no dip in persuasion or invention on the album, song nine, Refauxlution keeping the trend with its predatory canter equipped with tantalising sonic enterprise and a rhythmic targeting pinning ears to the wall in joyful submission. Each song is a maelstrom of physical and emotional turbulence guided by the unavoidable vocal alchemy of Sayell but as shown by Refauxlution, so sublimely crafted and imagined that you often feel relaxed and in a mellower climate as the song chews its way into the psyche.

The album is brought to a mighty close by firstly its title track, a glorious slow meandering smoulder of voice and sound which brews up a crescendo of angst fired ire to singe the senses before slipping back into its shadow thick serenade. If The Only Way Is Essex You Can Kill Me Now is given the task to follow it and end things on a high, which it does in a fuzzy tempest of hook ridden punk ‘n’ roll.

Recorded with Sean Genockey over apparently only three days, A Hundred Years A Day is the raw, live, and creative might of The St Pierre Snake Invasion in one dynamic and intoxicating place. Their previous EPs have been irresistible but there is a new depth in songwriting and sound with a persistent consistency in major success across A Hundred Years A Day. It is also an announcement that the band has not only come of creative age but opened the gateway to even bigger, bolder, and daresay brawly treats ahead.

A Hundred Years A Day is out now digitally @ and on CD @

Pete RingMaster 04/11/2015

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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Shevils – The White Sea

Photo by Jørn Veberg

Photo by Jørn Veberg

With a couple of singles in as many recent months setting the scene and platform for their new album, Norwegian band Shevils now unleash The White Sea, in turn confirming themselves as one of Europe’s finest hardcore incitements. It is a ten track sonic roar of hardcore aggression and noise rock imagination, easily Oslo hailing Shevils at their most addictively inventive and punishingly ferocious.

Since coming across Shevils through their single Is This To be (Our Lives)? in 2011, the year the band also formed, they have been a perpetual adventure to anticipate and be impressed by for our and their ever growing number of fan’s ears. Every time thoughts wonder if the band has hit their pinnacle, they have pushed on again, second album Lost In Tartarus a prime example as it took the strong and gripping prowess and sound of its predecessor The Year Of The Fly, and indeed The Necropolis EP before it, both also released in the band’s first year, to new heights of quality and bold adventure. As hinted at by the singles One Thousand Years and Shivers these past few weeks, they have done it again, their third full-length The White Sea digging deeper into bold craft and invention to move forward again from its 2013 uncaged predecessor.

The core trio of Shevils, vocalist Anders Voldrønning, guitarist Andreas Andre Myrvold, and drummer Anders Emil Rønning have created a twisted and angry beast in The White Sea, its nature and intensity echoing the social and political turmoil its lyrics seed their invention and fury from. With some of the songs also co-written by former member Christoffer Gaarder, the album is a voracious tempest of sound and emotion which at times becomes a writhing flirtatiously contagious predator and in other moments is an erosive sonic tempest of intensity and ire. From start to finish though, it is a gripping and ravenously compelling adventure which in one way or another exhausts and deeply pleasures in equal measure.

shevils-the-white-sea-cover_RingMaster Review   Produced by Marcus Forsgren, The White Sea stirs into rich life with I Wear The Skies, the opener coaxing with one, two, subsequently three and four layers of rich enticement once choppy riffs lure more spikily nagging hooks, keenly jabbing beats, and finally a groove thick bass tempting, it all uniting in an explosion of noise and impassioned vocal fire. Early hooks continue to lay down their addictiveness as the song grows, expanding their bait throughout as the short but glorious track boils to an anthemically ferocious close.

The outstanding start continues with We Could Leave The World, the bass of producer Forsgren almost skipping in its throatily pulsating prowl as again guitars stir up air with their sonic teeth posing as riffs. Band vocals roar and squall around the ever enticing lead tones of Voldrønning whilst the sweeping swipes of Rønning steer things into greater virulence, a contagion perpetually stretched and shaped by the craft and enterprise of Myrvold. Managing to eclipse the previous track, it only leads to another instant pinnacle within the album, a lofty peak going by the name of One Thousand Years. The earlier mentioned single bounds in on an inescapable rhythmic enticing, its enslaving hold matched by the grouchy blaze of guitar and vocals as well as the enjoyably predatory bassline. Sonic causticity and vocal rousing continue to collide and collude within the outstanding track; three proposals in and already The White Sea is emerging as one of 2015’s essential violating puppeteers on body and imagination.

The Death Of Silence has thick bait tempting ears from its first breath, a stroking of baritone guitar swift seduction quickly aided by a just as dark bass intimidation. Voldrønning’s mix of sandy and inflamed deliveries soon hold the reins of the song, especially as it evolves into a less imposing but similarly intensive affair with guitars melodically exploring and harmonies flaming in the surroundings of the abrasively catchy encounter. As with any Shevils track there is also an underlying drama in expression and imagination, here it boldly seeding a percussive shuffle and infectious swing helping to forge one invigorating incitement.

A rawer and more corrosive atmosphere floods Black Summer next, its textures matching the air as its hardcore heart pours passion and physical ferocity down the veins of the spiralling guitar enterprise. The track is a thickly layered and delivered protagonist, a consuming smog of sound which again has satisfaction full though it is instantly overshadowed by Shivers. As natural as breathing, guitars and bass spin a web of addictive hooks as beats slowly but forcibly batter the senses. It is a punk inferno pulsating with the band’s mighty roars and sonic ingenuity, and breeding anthemic toxicity which has limbs and voice enlisted in short time, moving on to twist and manipulate the imagination and psyche with every spin of its carnivorous inventiveness and rabid energy.

Both the vindictively prowling Wordsmiths and the transfixing Fireflies keeps release and emotions aflame, the first another defiance driven hardcore/punk antagonism as infectious as it is physically scarring. Its successor soon lives up to its name, guitars breeding glowing melodies which sonically flit across the evocative canvas of the song. Once more rhythmic imagination is as potent as dynamic tendrils of sound, uniting in an engrossing and wonderfully demanding onslaught, though a searing tapestry outweighed in spite by the hellacious When Will I See You Again?, a brutal assault tempered by catchy adventure in songwriting and individual craft.

It tempestuous tsunami is emulated by the album’s closing title track, The White Sea even more erosive and smothering as its sonic density and raging emotions devour and ignite the senses. It is the least welcoming track on the album, but no slouch in potent lures with haunting keys creeping through ears in the shadows of the crawling storm whilst a catchiness of sorts seeps into every volatile intent and trespass of riffs and scything beats.

It is a thoroughly exhausting end to the album, the band at its most creative and exploratory whilst freeing every ounce of their emotion and dark depths in a startling oppressive temptation. As their second album leapt on from the first, so The White Sea does again. It might not be as big a step on the surface in some ways but it is their most inventive one making Shevils one of the big excitements in noise invention. Like a hybrid of Cancer Bats, Refused, Sofy Major, and Melvins, this a band ready to stand aside such names whilst scarring your senses.

The White Sea will be self-released on 6th November.

Pete RingMaster 03/11/2015

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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Blobfish Killer – Self Titled EP

Blobfish Killer_RingMaster Review

It is a noise rock, hardcore, and metal fury; a sound as ugly as the face of the fish its creators were ‘born to eradicate, and just irresistible. The evidence comes as a brawling persuasion posing as the self-titled EP from French rockers Blobfish Killer, a three track release which set ears ablaze as the senses ran for cover and pleasure was whipped up into lust. Like a raw blend of Every Time I Die, Kvelertak, Sofy Major, and Them Teeth, the Marseille quartet take no prisoners but cast a lure of creative and mischievous devilry within their tempests, a mix which only has ears wanting to be abused more and more.

couv_RingMaster Review     The band’s EP was recorded with Evan Heritage of heavy rockers Hell Rules Heaven, and opens with the mighty Erotic Palace. Also featuring a contribution from Heritage, the song makes its first touch through a vocal sample which in turn seeds a scorching roar from the throat of vocalist Bleu as the track explodes in creative ire. The next few moments sees the song prowl ears as if getting its bearings whilst sizing up its victim simultaneously as riffs and rhythms intimidate and court attention. It is an intensive examination already breeding a contagious air which soon evolves into addictive grooves and spicy hooks within the quickly evolving diversity of the compelling incitement. The increasingly impressive proposal never lessens its abrasing storm as it twists into varying dramatic shapes within a web of diversely flavoured enterprise from the guitar of Flo against the devilishly prowling bass of Cesar. It is an exceptional track having ears and appetite enslaved by its first minute and ardour ripe before its dynamic body reaches its conclusion.

Party Hard takes over with matching riveting confrontation next, its initial presence again brutally bruising before a carnivorous bass line aligns to the rapier swings of drummer JP, grooves and antagonistic vocals swiftly colluding in the forceful invitation too. As its predecessor, the song springs a trap of predatory rock ‘n’ roll from within the volatile invention and air of its fury, an inner virulent tempting tempering and adding equally to the voracious energy and aggression consuming eager ears. Each song is thick in textures and busy invention in their tsunami of sound. It is a richness one listen cannot fully take in so numerous plays is where new elements and a broader unveiling of the imagination and craft fuelling each encounter is plundered; that in turn only increasing the enjoyment and fascination that is inspired from the first play.

Final track Never Again brings the release to a glorious close, its tangy niggling grooves intoxicating enticing alone as rhythms batter and the bass venomously growls over the senses. Vocals again side with the rawer, nastier side of the invention but bring their own potent variety to help leave every part of a track pleasingly unpredictable.

The only problem with the Blobfish Killer EP is it has only three songs; each tremendous and scintillating trespasses on ears and beyond sparking a real hunger for much more. If any of those names mentioned at the top light your imagination, and you can add the likes of The Bronx, Pigs, and Whores too, but want something different again, then this is a must.

The Blobfish Killer EP is out now as a name your own price download @

Pete RingMaster 27/10/2015

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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Grizzlor – Cycloptic

Grizzlor_RingMaster Review

As it ravished and destabilised the senses, last year’s When You Die EP sparked a lustful appetite in us for the raw and dirtily rabid noise rock infestation cast by US trio Grizzlor. It was a persuasion continuing in a split release with Norwegian duo Barron Womb earlier this year but now exploding into lofty new heights with the Connecticut trio’s new offering, Cycloptic. The 7 track 7” EP is sonic irresistibility as intoxicating as it is bruising and ravenously intrusive. This time around Grizzlor have not so much polished but stripped down their sludgy, hardcore trespass to its textured bones which in turn has fanned the fires of spiteful imagination and searing diversity. The result is something glorious, with Grizzlor now not so much one of our favourite propositions of the past twelve months since they first nudged our personal attention, but of punk/rock confrontations for many, many years.

New Haven hailing vocalist/guitarist Victor, drummer John, and bassist Wade first emerged as Grizzlor early last year, making a mark with their self-released debut EP We’re All Just Aliens, though fair to say it was its successor When You Die through Money Fire Records that stirred even more attention. Despite the impressive presence and strong persuasion of both, it is easy to suspect that Cycloptic will be a whole new ball game in luring acclaim and richer spotlights the way of Grizzlor. Its invention and fury are simply a declaration that the band is ready to be one of the major protagonists helping to inspire and reshape the scene ahead.

Cover_RingMaster Review   Cycloptic begins its intrusive contagion with Sundays Are Stupid which provides its first intrigue through a warped breath of vocal and air which quickly springs a rhythmic stalking crossed by acidic sonic swipes of guitar. Bass and drums court intimidation and appetite simultaneously, their prowling swing as instantly addictive as the hook laded groove of guitar and the overall collusion of punk and noise rock blossoming the virulent tapestry crowding the broadening vocal roar of Victor. Imagination is just as hectic too, a distorted shimmer midway turning song catching the listener on their heels before things get thrillingly tempestuous all over again.

Strolling straight out of the wake of its predecessor, a baiting bassline leads I’m That Asshole into ears and ardour, its attitude caked lure the prelude to antagonistic beats and vocals as guitars unleashes a caustic tirade of irritable temptation. No song reaches the two minute mark, most barely glimpsing its signpost, but at forty odd seconds, the second track is a fast acting short and busy predatory fondling of the senses.

     Life’s A Joke has a more even paced stride to its scathing and addictive volatility; the track teasing with the infectious toxicity of The Black Black and a primal noise/hardcore rousing reminiscent of Sofy Major, whilst Tommy takes the listener into the bedlamic emotive realm of its protagonist on a swing of funk infused demonic bass and tangy grooves with venom in their veins. Both tracks grip the imagination whilst frisking body and senses, the first being pure punk belligerence within a creative psychosis of sound and the second in a sinister incitement before Winter Blows twists and turns like a tornado flinging flirtatious hooks, scowling vocals, and rhythmic agitation from its stormy centre.

Already Cycloptic has ears and thoughts enslaved and ready to acclaim Grizzlor as hitting a plateau to match more established noise exponents, a suggestion only reinforced by War Machine. Feeling energetically more urgent than its stalking actually is, thanks to the violently frisky swings of John, the song spews its emotive animus within a tantalising surf rock hued climate; the sultry, salty tang of guitar providing a fraudulent sunset increasingly masking the ingrained dark intent and textures of the track. It is bewitching, a sonic weave of invention that seduces as it uncompromisingly ravishes.

The EP is concluded by Starship Mother Shit, a slow sludge thick creeping through ears with lumbering and intensive rhythms courted by psyche infesting guitar spawned enterprise. There is nowhere to hide as the song gets under the skin whilst rubbing its bracing force upon every inch of body and soul, and no place for anything less than rich enthusiasm for repeat prescriptions of its violating devilry.

As we mentioned When You Die had us enlisted to the Grizzlor last year, but Cycloptic simply leaves it in the shade with each of its delicious creative malefactions on the senses. If not doing so before, now really is the time to embrace the noise fuelled scourge of Grizzlor.

The Cycloptic EP is released late October 2015 through Hex Records digitally and as a limited edition red and white vinyl @

Pete RingMaster 26/10/2015

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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