The Singles Jukebox

Michelle gets us some metalcore coverage...

[6.36]

Total writers: 11
Highest score: [9]
Lowest score: [5]
Controversy index: 1.31

Michelle Myers: Metalcore is less a genre than an approach. It's hardcore-shaped music rendered in a metallic palette. In thrown's case, the hardcore is modern, post-Knocked Loose heavy shit with a tough NYHC beatdown influence. The metal is thuddy, dissonant thall, pitched straight down to the depths of hell. In an interview with Ola Englund, Thrown's multi-instrumentalist/producer Buster Odeholm said, "It's 2023. Notes are overrated." Thrown's willingness to eschew melody for texture and rhythm lends their music gravitas. The riffs on "On the Verge" are never sterile, and Thrown's considerable technical prowess doesn't overshadow the intense emotionality of their music. They don't need to play fast. They don't need to squeal like hellspawn. When the breakdown comes, they just chug slower. The new pace allows frontman Marcus Lundquist to add a new layer of despair to his words as he repeats the first verse. "I've tried," he insists, in the past tense, "to come to terms with my mind." He doesn't need to tell you it was an unsuccessful attempt.
[9]

Brad Shoup: One of my favorite bits is "Nuggets, but for __". If it worked for garage rock--a very bad style of music--why wouldn't it work for Eurodance or gabber or freestyle? Or metalcore? This would be one for the Children of Nuggets box: the anguish is rendered from a very old and muddy palette. (Referencing "demons" is bad enough; did they really have to rhyme it with "screaming"?) But to their credit, they take their torment and swing it against a brick wall. The track, frankly, slams: the breakdown is sick, the klaxon-like guitar ostinato and rap sample are a nice nod to the massively influential (!) Linkin Park. Another hint we're dealing with a new generation of metalcore: they're out in a breezy 2:15.
[6]

Taylor Alatorre: I spent the better part of a week trying to gather my thoughts for a blurb that would weave together digressions on the etymology of "metalcore," the history of abortive nu metal revivals, the performance of masculine self-loathing, and the ethnomusicology of hardcore shows. Had the footnotes ready and everything. Then, after around my 37th time listening to the mini-breakdown before the chorus ("well I cannot fucking wait"), the urge to write had dissipated completely, and the urge to slam had taken hold. I am no longer thinking about what the next word in this sentence will be; I am astral projecting myself from my office chair into a violently teeming mass of bodies that I'm several years too old to safely be a part of. I am at war, I am at peace; I have given up.
[7]

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