Hailing and wailing from Soweto, South Africa, rising from the ashes After The Storm comes pounding like a fierce berg wind. Don’t let this trigger your ancraophobia; they are only here (hear) to rip your sagging, middle-aged flesh from your living corpsicle sonically. Ah, Daddy—yes, Son—tell us about a time when punk was raw, dangerous, and would generally stomp your skull into the molten inner sanctum of living hell on Earth.
Let’s break this down a bit for the nubile, nipple-dependent, punk-by-numbers crew. "Life Thing" has this infectious groove thang going on, and I don’t mean the band—but I could stretch the skin (think the woman in the movie Brazil) to draw a dotted line back to when Suicidal Tendencies would catch you low-riding, bandana-wearing mofos in a groove, only to come kicking down your cheap ’70s paneling while you chew on fake splinters of wood. Yummy. Hey, it could be worse.
On "Fine Wine", I could swear they’re saying, “We gotta turn that poop into wine.” Well, no thanks—but hey, maybe if I were drunk enough, I’d let it pass my lips. There was a time I drank some jailhouse concoction and ended up in a fight with a leather jacket. I digress—or should I say, I digest. Ha ha. This song has elements at the beginning of Death (not the Grim Reaper smiling down at you), but the band, who, inadvertently, had the pleasure of playing with 21 Children. Anyways, Fine Wine comes across like a raw version of an early Fugazi outtake or something from D. Boon and the Minutemen.
"99," possibly Agent 99? It’s a nice lightning rod of rawness and is over before it begins—so much so that I hit repeat 99 times.
Donut-Eating "Scab"! Which makes me ponder the question: do all ingulubes actually wear blue? Is this known as authoritarian dress sense? Scab comes across like Hey Boy / Hey Boy Reagan Youth rawness—warts and all. No AI polish here. Keep swimming if that floats your Titanic life raft.
"Rain Dance" has the energy of Black Flag when Henry was coughing up his lungs, accompanied by Ginn scattering cat-on-the-fretboard solos. Don’t do drugs, kids.
We bookend this release with a not-so-beautiful ballad about malaria-infected mosquitoes buzzing around and chemicals floating through hospitals in hell city.
An energetic release that puts The Faith (subtle reference) and cleanses your blackened, pulsating aging punk rock heart.
10 screaming skulls from the bottom of a bottle out of 10 screaming skulls from the bottom of a bottle!
