Splinter Cell

A metal band is sitting here talking about subtlety. About understatement. About holding back. A metal band.

Restraint has never been among metal’s most celebrated virtues, and Truth Cell is not immune to the allure of a good lyrical hard-on. But the resurrected Lawrence band imbues its “crushcore” music with a poise rarely found among the violent thrashers of its genre.

“There’s not a lot of flash,” says lead guitarist Jordan Tucker. “We just go out there and play.”

Well, that’s not completely true. The many incarnations of Truth Cell have become notorious for their politics, even if that activist bent doesn’t blanket the music so much as bubble beneath its surface.

The band’s performances are straightforward and gimmick-free. The members revel in self-deprecating humor yet reserve smiles for the moments between songs. Even the band’s infrequent show dates are booked with an eye to the power of minimalism.

Recently that unadulterated style earned the band’s “A Friend of the World Is an Enemy of God” a Just Plain Folks nomination for Best Metal Song, an honor that online vendor CDbaby.com bestowed on just 20 of 144,000 submitted tracks.

It’s a welcome accolade in a particularly trying year for a band that has seen 14 members in 6 years — years spent with the band wearing a libertarian doctrine on its guitar straps as it opened for the likes of Sevendust, GWAR and Disturbed. But a falling out sent three members packing last year, just as the industry — from MTV2’s Ian Robinson to national booking outfit Radio Takeover — was taking notice.

Since that ill-timed shakedown, the band’s music has re-examined the inadequacies of not just the state but also the individual. New songs written by vocalist James Savage point a finger at sulky types (“9-Millimeter Lie Detector” tells a woman contemplating suicide to get over herself), the kind of citizens who bitch about the status quo but don’t vote.

“It’s about breaking out of apathy,” bassist R.A. Brice says. “Believe in something rather than anything. Rather than nothing.”

Guitarist Shane Murray, 32, the band’s lone original member, says Truth Cell doesn’t separate the public from the private.

“The band has always been a vehicle to speak our minds,” Murray says. “But by politics, we also mean personal politics. How to conduct yourself.”

Onstage, the band conducts itself candidly enough without needing sweat-tracked makeup, red jumpsuits or pump-action jiz bazookas. While Savage arches his back to release his wolfman growl and drummer Jay Tovar-Ballagh — just 16 years old — maintains a stoic face behind a flurry of double-bass kicks, the band’s fans swirl, bob, scream and raise their two-pronged hand signs. The music, it would seem, speaks for itself.

“It sounds like a machine gun,” Tucker says. “You can talk about having a message in your lyrics, but the music should set an image as well. You can go out there and just wail and flail. But instead I try to set a picture. People can hear it and immediately think, ‘hectic.’ Or ‘gloomy.’ Or ‘antiquated.'”

The recent addition of sample wizard Don “the Butcher” Akerstrom has added another mind-fuck dimension to the band’s music. Truth Cell has long used spoken-word samples to further its damn-the-man message; the 2002 debut, Hurajan — mastered by Pantera-mixing demigod Sterling Winfield — kicks off with the simple, spoken statement You just better wake up and start fighting for your rights.

“The samples are a window into the political ideologies of the collective,” Murray explains.

But beyond his mixing, Akerstrom’s stage presence provides an intriguing contrast to the rest of the group’s collective composure. He hovers and hops around the sampler like a mad scientist who has guzzled a beaker of frothing rock and roll. His samples are cryptic, creepy and dark but always apt.

“Being subliminal means striking at the subconscious level,” Brice says. “Truth Cell’s music is really frontal. It’s really abrasive. But we’ll hear ‘I can’t get with the music. I can’t get with the lyrics. But something got to me.'”

“Damn it, Ray,” Tucker interjects. “Now someone’s gonna kill themselves, and we’re gonna get sued.”

The band laughs.

Savage: “We don’t take ourselves too seriously.”

Brice: “Yeah, there’s no competition to see who’s the most evil.”

Savage: “We hold a lot of the jokes back, but it’s all smiles between songs. I’ve never seen a metal band smile so much in my life.”

Tucker: “And we’re mostly sober.”

That’s the humor and rapport Savage says were missing within the band’s previous lineup. It’s a new strength that fans have responded to, already having formed a sardonic community around the new message board at the band’s Web site, www.truthcell.com.

Lawrence-based 213 Records, the band’s label for nearly 2 years, also has greeted the new lineup with enthusiasm, sending the band on a 7-city Midwest tour last month. Truth Cell is tracking for a 6-song EP — 2 songs of which will be recorded live, along with DVD footage, at Saturday’s show at the Bottleneck.

The performance recalls the band’s political origins — the merch table will double as a voter-registration booth — but the rare appearance is also another study in the ironic art of metal constraint.

“A lot of bands burn out their following,” Murray says. “We get a lot more offers to play than we play. We don’t bludgeon the area to death. Always leave ’em wanting more.”