I don’t study music…not really. Not in the sense that I can identify Renaissance period classical compositions from Romantic or Baroque. Nor do I pass my time splitting cunt hairs over the difference in grindcore and deathcore…and why is that? Because it isn’t necessary, it is fucking obvious!!! But, since I haven’t put my proverbial pen to paper in far too long and ‘Smashed’ clocks in at a manageable six minutes eighteen seconds, I figured what the fuck.
Whatever genre wiser men can stamp on California’s Buried At Birth means little to me, all I know is that I am not accustomed to reviewing material of this nature. The breakneck pace of ‘Smashed’ shifts from blasting furies to dragging dirges without warning, keeping the listener on their toes throughout. The performance is tight in all respects: thundering drums hold together a cacophony of arpeggio guitars, bottomless bass and vile vocal assaults. The female singer sounds as if she is fending off attackers with a switchblade while belting her banshee wail into the recording microphone…don’t stand to close!
While I can’t argue with the logic of this 7″ anymore than I can argue will Bill Maher’s logic that if heaven is a better place, why doesn’t the christian kill himself (that conversation makes up the better half of the epic, 44 second album opener), I will argue that there is little separating these tracks from a score of other similar bands who can play their asses off. There is never a shortage of musicians who can shred, blast and scream their lungs out but there is a real need for a memorable song once in a while. While each muscular riff is healthy and able to kick your ass, by the time you realize what hit you, it has disappeared, replaced by the next hormone fueled clusterfuck that guarantees a gaggle of youth will bounce around in total disarray.
So, after careful consideration, I would recommend this album to fans of deathcore but probably not grindcore, just in case you are keeping score at home. Buried At Birth shouldn’t be confused with the primitive power of grindcore’s founding fathers; the perfected sound and polished production just isn’t revolting enough to even be considered next to a Napalm Death or an Impetigo.