Spite
Bastard Complex (Prosthetic)
by Scott Hefflon
This is how it works for a reviewer: ya get a record from some label you barely know, you hate the sound of it, but you can tell that it’s a good band lost in a lousy mix. You pass on the CD, but wish the band well. Often, that’s the end of it. You never hear of the band again cuz they lacked the resolve to drag their asses through the shit again. But sometimes, just sometimes, another label realizes the same potential, coerces the band into signing with them, and the band hooks up in the studio with a producer who knows his ass is for sitting on and his elbow for leaning on, all the while twiddling the knobs to make the band sound as loud, crisp, huge, and fearsome as sonically possible. And that’s what we’ve got here with Bastard Complex. Spite stuck with it, overcoming a crappy-sounding record and kept banging away at a world that wasn’t exactly offering a helping hand. Evidently, they’re hard-workin’, D.I.Y.-kinda guys, but what really matters is do they knock your dick in the dirt? They sure as shit do that.
Comparisons to Korn and Rage ATM are inevitable because people are stupid and can’t think of anything better to reference. The Rage reference is mostly based on the repetition in the vocals, the dramatic whispers that become screams, and the mildly hip-hoppy drumming (actually, it’s a metal thing through and through, it’s just attributed to hip-hop cuz long-haired white guys aren’t supposed to be able to hit things with primal urgency or something). But the Rage thing falls flat when it comes to the vocals. This ain’t no clipped-voiced politico, it’s a mixture of meaty roar and Tool-ish honesty. And quite a fine mix it is. I keep thinking a more diverse Christdriver (y’all may never’ve heard ’em and that’s your loss), but for common consumption, I’d have to vote for early, very, very angry and heavy Clutch. Did that do it? Are you interested yet? Bastard Complex has the massive low-end rumble of bass and guitar, the booming drums offset with a sharp thwack! of the snare (think Sepultura), and a vocal style that almost weeps (like Korn, yeah, OK), loses its shit and turns to a howl, a tormented yowl.
Produced by Machine (Pitchshifter, White Zombie), Bastard Complex is foul-smelling, ground-in-dirt anger at a chaotic and fucked-up world, tearing at anything that moves (including itself) in an attempt at purification. Not death not black or doom or thrash or “new” metal, this is simply huge, ugly, plodding, smashing heaviness that hates everything around it. Get it, get into it, and pet the Beast.
(6230 Wilshire Blvd. #128 Los Angeles, CA 90048)
