None So Vile: Gore Grind Extravaganza
For the past ten months or so, I’ve been slagging the world’s stupidest bands. I haven’t singled out any metal acts for ridicule, for good reason: Metal is the best fucking genre imaginable. Exceptions to that statement: “Metalcore” acts with Pantera-worshipping verses and pansy crooned choruses; that glammed-out ’80s bullshit and the even less talented modern-day sleaze merchants who want to “bring it back”; “rap-metal” hybrids. Basically, these abominations dilute and sterilize a musical form that should be served raw, meaning both unpolished and bloody.
This weekly column, which I’ve named None So Vile after a 1996 Cryptopsy album, will focus on groups with illegible logos, graphically violent lyrics, inhumanly fast blast beats and, occasionally, incongruously gorgeous guitar solos. My primary goal is to spotlight regional purveyors of gloriously brutal noise, those longhaired heroes on the local scene’s fringes, but I’ll also mention relevant upcoming shows and releases from national, and often international, acts.
I purposefully launched None So Vile to coincide with tonight’s Gore Grind Extravaganza at the Riot Room, which epitomizes metal’s singular fusion of technical prowess and creative depravity. The best band on the bill, the Independence-based Gornography, might be the loudest duo in area history. Fletcher Kline shreds through the riffs, while Chris Wilson (also the masked man behind the kit in Troglodyte) speed-pummels the drums. It can be hard to decipher Kline’s guttural belches, so during concerts, he considerately announces titles such as “Vomitous Vaginal Anal Death Machine.”