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Cutthroats 9 | review | punk | rock | Lollipop
The Cutthroats 9
by Craig Regala
Picking up where his previous band (The Unsane) left off, Chris Spencer keeps boring into the space between art-noise, explosive groove-grind punk roots (Flipper, Black Flag), and death'n'roll. No shit. Chris' bands have defined this territory as Today is The Day have for the post-metal abrasive carpet-bombing that makes many of you sullen little bastards dream of a better tomorrow. The Cutthroats 9 rock, which is to say the goddamn rhythm section is a ball of power bang and not some oversped polka beat hardcore horseshit. That shit crawls up my ass, y'know? How are you suppose to get some fucking life-affirming kick-ass outta some kid playing at the "got-caught-jerking-off-in-the-library" tempo? You can't, it's shameful. It says so right there in the Bible, so don't do it, OK?
Another reason why these guys are contenders and need to be purchased by y'all is they write tunes. Tunes that set up the explosions, tunes that structure the anger, tunes that manage to ride the rhythm'n'noise into birthing real songs. I'm heartened by their existence and the mid-tempo surge of their material. Chris continues singing with the "exiled-prophet-howling-on-the-mountain-top" wind-tunnel effect, his guitaring often fills holes with stinging and chiming as well as chords. This alerts you to the fact he knows how to telecast the creepy-crawly fear into your dreams of Nick Cave rolling around in a heroin-soaked weekend. Release the bats in deed... and fact.
(403 S. Broadway Baltimore, MD 21231)
[editor's note: This is a reissue of the self-titled CD released by the now-defunct Man's Ruin.]