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MEATWOUND “Macho”
MEATWOUND “Macho”
By Lord Randall
Florida sludgecore/noise purveyors, MEATWOUND return after six years to unceremoniously thrust us into the fetid season of swamp ass and eternally pit-stained T-shirts with the aptly titled “Macho”. Reconvening with a new drummer in the human guise of Dimitri Stoyanov, Messrs. Wallace, Iglesias (not Julio), and Barros have something brewing behind the somehow grisly hot pink and lime green façade of the cover.
The garishness arrives on the back of “Compressed Hell”, programmed throb and drums kicking these grumpy old men back into action in rare form, scattered like buckshot from a lupara, leaving wounds jagged and unable to clot. We stumble up “Mount Vermin” with jerky, spasmodic steps that make The Walking Dead’s walkers look like they’re dancing the god-dang ballet. BRUTAL JUICE’s pristinely disgusting “Mutilation Makes Identification Difficult” is a sonic reference point, equally the more aggressive material of DRIVE LIKE JEHU.
“Obese Variants” is a rip-roarin’ drinking contest between the ghosts of Hunter S. Thompson and Jackson Pollock interpreted as sound collage, collapsing headfirst into “Labor”, which is a wall of sound so complete it almost feels corporeal. The effect of Iglesias’ programming work throughout “Macho” cannot be overstated, “Frank Stallone” and “Pigs, Tu” hitting about midway through the album. Where the former is what would pass for an interlude on anyone else’s album, “Pigs, Tu” conjures early –(16)- (Think “Doorprize” EP, “Curves That Kick” era), before that band started to inject God forbid melody into the mix.
“Barking Dogs As Plot Device” is jackhammer powerviolence with emphasis on the “power”, almost industrial in execution. Is that a fuckin’ drill press or pneumatic hammer I’m hearing? Either way, I’m feeling it against my skull. Which is exactly how “Macho” should be taken…the only way it can be; unfiltered, whacko, and subtle as acid in an eyedropper.
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