"...And So Our Troubles Began"

By Lord Randall

'Jellyfish' stomps and slugs its way out of the gate like a football hooligan on a mission to fuck shit up forthwith, taking the unsanctified sludge lordship that was IRON MONKEY and wrapping it around a still-quivering chunk of QUICKSAND at their most abrasive. Lyrics, schmirics; you’ll get ‘em when DRAINLAND wants you to, and not a second before and while they were almost absent in the opener, ‘Larry Clark’ finds them used as a percussive instrument, pummeling into your face for all 1:24 of the affair. Given their geographical location, DRAINLAND’s got more than enough reason to be pissed, Dublin having seen itself built, blown up and built up again in a seemingly endless cycle of shite-for-brains violence no matter what side of the line you were on. ‘Limb Template’ nods to hardcore, gang vocals and driving rhythms propelling the band forward. ‘Rebuilding Salem’ stumbles almost to its knees before trying to fight its way back to its feet shortly after the 2-minute mark, and mightily standing strong through an abbreviated ‘Scouring Process’, sounding for all the world like steel wool scraped across a rusty tin tray. Hail abrasiveness when used to maximum effect, I say.

At a whore’s breath under a half-hour in length, "…And So Our Troubles Began" punishes in the style of the best dirty, drug-addled filth for which the Cleveland, Ohio area is known (FISTULA, RUE, I’m looking at you). Fucking DRAINLAND. As if I needed another soundtrack to my personal apocalypse.