Napalm Death
Order of the Leech (Spitfire)
by Tim Den
Following the lead of ’00’s Enemy of the Music Business, those untouchable godfathers of grind are back with a second “return to roots” album. Some people are praising the band for ditching the mid-’90s experimentation, some are lambasting the band for regressing… but let’s get one thing straight here: No matter which side you’re on, the fact remains that Napalm Death are the best in the genre. Hands down. Fight over which era you prefer, just don’t forget that these guys invented the fucking formula and have been perfect at it ever since. During the noise days, the death metal days, the futuristic days… and into countless albums in the future. No other band packs as much brains with brawn; no other band manifests fear, social unrest, and grassroots self-education like good ol’ ND. They are punker than Crass, better musicians than your favorite band, and always comin’ atcha with better production values and spine-ripping riffs than Terminator.
Order of the Leech, though not my personal favorite kind of Napalm torture (I still swear by the “experimental” groove monsters Inside the Torn Apart and Words From the Exit Wound), continues the band’s track record for unrelenting brutality in both the nonstop (seriously, nonstop this time around) grind and in the declaratory lyrics. Within the first four songs, everything from Dubya to mainstream culture gets beaten to a pulp via sickening breakdowns, the kind that made this band in the first place. And though it is never matched again, the rest of the album Tazmanian Devils the shit out of it ’til there’s simply no more blood to spill.
Napalm Death have stood the test of time not only because they are the originators; they’ve remained relevant, respected, and emulated because they continue to challenge their own audience, the mainstream public, their genre of music, and what it means to be an intelligent person living on the outskirts of the general population. And, of course, they have continued to deliver nothing less than perfection… here’s another one for ya, world. Fuck you in the brown hole if you don’t recognize.
(22 W. 38th St. 7th Fl. New York, NY 10018)
