A tribute to Dave Mustaine, or a clichéd hardcore trope?
If it was the former, it would give this record a semblance of intelligence that it sorely lacks.
Madball are not a band that stand the test of time.
They’re often the beginner hardcore band for metal heads yet to discover Sick of it All, Agnostic Front or Cro-Mags in the echelon of NYHC.
But they do have their moments: ‘Pride (Times Are Changing)’ still stands up well as a menacing, yet life affirming song. And ‘Set it Off’ has a pretty decent groove going on.
No such moments like that on here, however.
I have played this album around four times, and I’m struggling to come up with something to write about it. Not only because it sounds like it came off a conveyor belt, but also because there’s nothing noteworthy to write about it.
Just a long slog of digitally processed riffing, the least threatening gang vocals in the world and lyrics about being a lone wolf and living on your knees.
I know that bands need to keep making records in order to tour, and so I understand that this can lead to band members going through the motions, producing one or two songs that will sit well in the live set between the crowd favourites.
But fucking hell, it doesn’t excuse this turd of a record.
This type of music is meant to be exciting, not sound like it was made in a fucking factory by committee.
The cover is weak bullshit as well. Generic black and white live shot with the band’s logo displayed prominently.
It’s as if Madball couldn’t give a fuck, because they know that the album will be bought by aging skinheads who think Madball, alongside Rancid, are “keeping street punk alive”, and streamed by Champion long-sleeved jumper wearing hardcore kids with graffiti baseball caps who’ll read articles about the evils of the world on their iPhone.
Lazy, box ticking, insipid rubbish.
0.5 / 5 – Christopher Owens ::: 11/06/18