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 @ http://hexrecords.bigcartel.com/product/grizzlor-cycloptic-7

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Pete RingMaster 26/10/2015

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Grizzlor – When You Die EP

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With so many releases presenting themselves each and every week it is easy for a fair few gems to slip under the radar without an additional nudge in their direction. Such would probably have happened with the When You Die EP if drummer John from its creators, the noise/dirt rock trio Grizzlor, had not offered an invitation to check out the four-track treat. Released via Money Fire Records, the EP is a raw and ravenous cauldron of noise and voracious intensity which is also unafraid to throw in the heaviest sludge bred endeavour and toxically seductive grooves. There is plenty more to their abrasing tempest of sound too, all revelling in the fuzz filtered tempest the band casts over the senses.

Hailing put of New Haven, Connecticut, Grizzlor was formed in 2013 with vocalist/guitarist Victor and bassist Wade alongside John. Their self-titled debut provided the first statement of noise last year whilst 2014 opened with the release of its successor We’re All Just Aliens, both providing great early hints and clues to the growing emergence and evolution of a sound which has hit a new plateau within When You Die. The band’s third EP can and should be the gateway to the broadest spotlight for the band, as long as there are plenty to nudge it in the direction of unsuspecting ears like ours were previously.

No Time sets the corrosive carnival of predacious sound off in gripping style, its first breath thick voracious smog of crunchy riffs and rumbling rhythms cast in a grizzled throated bass embrace which alone has the juices leaking. Bass and guitar make a ridiculously compelling bait, at times almost Morkobot like in its uncompromising persuasion, whilst the equally raw and honest tones of Victor and the pungent web of beats from John only adds to the lure and drama of the encounter. Grooves flirt from within the oppressive sludginess of the song whilst sonic temptation within the psyche rock seduction of the tempest, is as sultry as it is mesmeric.

The outstanding start leads into the psychotic bedlam that is Plaster Cowboy, manic squalls from Victor the prelude to a rampaging stroll of meaty jabbing beats and an impossibly addictive a3850649878_2bassline. It is soon immersed in a caustic mesh of guitar abrasion, the song twisting and launching in unpredictable and riveting style like a mix of The Screaming Blue Messiahs, Melvins, and KEN Mode. There is also in many ways an element of the senses grazing rabidity which drives The Mad Capsules Markets to the sonic turbulence and tenacity spilling from within the songs creative fury. Adding a delicious strain of surf rock to its melodic acidity too, the track soon steals top honours on the release though it is soon rivalled by the salacious scuzz tempting of Stoned where sludge and noise collude with garage punk and again a surf bred devilry for a compelling seducing of ears and imagination alongside a lingering erosion of the senses.

Closing things up is Mini Spaceships, another provocation of chunky riffs and intensive rhythms ridden by antagonistic vocals. Once more that toxic surf tempting is permeating every pore whilst the seriously captivating ferocity of the beats and grizzly riffs leaves a deep hunger for much more.

There is nothing polished and arguably welcoming to When You Die yet it is one of the most gripping and inescapable joys of the year. It offers music in its rawest and most primal ingenuity with an invention and devilry which only ignites the passions. Noise rock has a new heir to its throne and it is called Grizzlor.

The When You Die EP is available now via Money Fire Records digitally or on 7” vinyl @ http://grizzlordestroys.bandcamp.com/ or http://moneyfirerecords.bandcamp.com/album/when-you-die

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RingMaster 23/12/2014

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