A sampling of final lines from songs off Trash Talk’s debut LP:
“Taste of the flesh.”
“I am alone.”
“Birth. Plague. Die.”
“I must escape this.”
“We hung our heads in shame.”
“I will spread the infection immaculately.”
Sounds like hardcore refrigerator magnet poetry, right? That shit goes down like rancid butter as screamed by Trash Talk’s two vocalists, who themselves ride atop a brakeless garbage truck compacting grimy old-school hardcore, breakneck grindcore assaults and some dangerous sludge breakdowns.
Surprise surprise, Steve Albini’s behind the trapped-in-a-stinky-basement-venue-with-a-broken-A/C feel of Trash Talk, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. Though there are a few standout songs on the album, it’s mostly about tumbling aggression, the kind that expends itself after a minute and a half (only two tracks break that barrier), and any sonic niceties would run the risk of deactivating the automatic fist-pump response mechanism.
That’s not a problem on “Revelation,” which closes Trash Talk with a cycling riff that gets gradually chewed up by tape distortion. It’s an aural incarnation of the final words: “No one, never again.” There’s another pissed-off hardcore line for the fridge. Awesome.
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