Their blend of technical death, metalcore breakdowns, and grind speed is refreshing in a time when many bands seem content churning out the same old shit.
As the title suggests, Fallout… acts like a companion piece to The War Within, replete with covers, re-recordings, unreleased material, and a few new tunes.
Anneke’s voice soars above the tinkerings, pulses, and throbs, always sounding vaguely Irish to these ears. The catch in her throat will put a lump in yours.
Part noisy college rock (when “alternative rock” was still ROCK), part punky rock, gonzo solos, and “I need a goddamn job!” hollers over Sex Pistols swagger.
With dub master/deep groover Richard Dorfmeister teaming up with the Latin seduction of Madrid De Los Austrias, how could it go so wrong? In a word: Disco.
The mainstream might know him as “that awkward guy on Mr. Show and Just Shoot Me,” comedy buffs and metalheads know Brian Posehn as the thrash-addicted giant.
A neo-glam band who sport eyeliner and tattoos, use the word punk to mean fast, and you’ll dig it, but always be a little suspicious of how honest it is.
Adam Rich isn’t a guitar whiz, but he can sing with the guitar about as well as he can with his voice, which ain’t bad. The best tune is the dusty “Vulture.”
Ditching the screaming and intense styles of their debut, going more melodic pop punk. Some of the songs are catchy and radio-friendly, about half are good.
A substantial portion of the electronic beats has been replaced by more grind, and a touch of electrified doom. The guitars sound more assured and comfortable.
Early ’80s-ish rock nestling itself between The Cranberries and Joan Jett, slightly burned-out chick-fronted grind with less hope in their lyrics than heart.
DFD dances naked in the back of your mind while jackhammering your defenses with coy melodies, Mike Patton theatrics, jazz sax, and death metal fist-fucking.
Member of Thee Shams kick out soulful, laid-back and thoughtful tales. Bit of drug stagger, sorrowful pleas, slide guitar, and harmonies Neil Young’d nod to.
This is this man’s deepest and most sincere expression of himself. It just so happens that he’s also able to write arena rock songs that cannot be refused.
If you’ve zoned out to Cowboy Junkies or Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb,” you’ll find solace in the flow of this solemn, depressive, and well-assembled dish.