Review Summary: The blueprint of a genre.
The legacy of Majority Rule is one that is unavoidable in the realm of emo. Delve deep enough into its chaotic offshoot of screamo and there it is: the cackling of an unyielding dissonance, the fearsome clash of intricate instrumentals as they jostle for space, the anguished screams leaving no loose ends to interpretation—it’s the impetus of the genre, and few provided a blueprint as enduring as the Virginia collective. Their approach took the inherent madness associated with such violent music and transformed it into a frighteningly precise weapon, chiseling from brute force a sound that could enthrall with its imposing technicality and compositional strengths. Where the band would maneuver a given track was never predictable; they were equally capable of terraforming a tranquil landscape as they were eviscerating it. Guitars venomous in their tone could be suddenly scaled back to embody a much more reserved timbre, allowing a fleeting serenity to intervene in the midst of destruction, all the while waiting patiently until engaging into a dynamic shift of terrifying intensity. Rarely would the crew set a tempo and abide by it, instead constantly modifying structures through which they could twist their songs. Such an artful balancing act of demonstrative ebbs and flows characterized the atmosphere of
Interviews With David Frost, unleashing upon the underground a disc sporting tantalizingly dark textures. It began a run of records, including a similarly renowned split with fellow Virginians Pg.99, that became almost Biblical in nature with regards to screamo.
Through a modern lens, what Majority Rule concocted on their sophomore effort is uncannily ahead of the curve. The aggression of a cut such as “Burial Suit” comes packaged with complex, razor-edged hardcore riffing just months shy before Converge cornered the market on it, and its masterful breakdown—a tremendous beatdown courtesy of an omnipresent bass that practically leaps out of the mix to strangle the listener—controls a crowd far better than contemporary groups could ever hope to. Then there is the gradual progression of the grand finale, “Kill the Cheat.” Born from graceful strumming, the tune suddenly erupts and alters course, transforming at the behest of blisteringly agile percussion into a whirlwind of heavy instrumentation. However, this too recedes, dissolving into an echoing bass riff and a haunting melody that lingers until one final gasp of violence silences the record. The cooperation necessitated to execute these arrangements without injecting into proceedings cheap gimmicks or jarring intersections remains admirable. Small wonder, then, how this became a go-to template for its parent category yet was difficult to accurately replicate; simply running strings and drums into each other couldn’t imitate the rawness of the stripped-back production, and it couldn’t capture those cathartic moments that careful crescendos journeyed to. For those that explore the foreboding depths of emo, toying with that inherent madness that lurks beyond the norm, this continues to rebel against the test of time. Few others in the realm of screamo possess this level of prestige.
