Review Summary: Lo and behold, you're still a scumbag
I think it’s clear that we’ve nearly exhausted all means of shock value. There’s not many routes a hardcore band, per se, could take on stage that would garner slack-jawed enthusiasm, and “offensive” has become significantly harder to achieve. Cutting yourself on stage? Richey Edwards beat you to it. Exposing yourself? Janet Jackson beat that dead horse into the ground long ago. Dangers’ Anger
is an envelope-pushing bombshell that shocks with a scary sincerity and considerable amounts of testosterone. It serves as an archive of emotional pain and rage for the ages. Dangers stun with pure, unadulterated emotional frustration, intelligent lyrics the likes of you’ve never heard, and brilliant, little tweaks of hardcore punk that distinguish Dangers from their peers; and make no mistake, Anger
is the soundtrack to the cynical, repressed psyche, the angst-ridden white, self-absorbed 20 year-old who knows all too well what it’s like to be “23 on Thursday.”
doesn’t pull any punches. The heavyweight sways to and fro, delivering swift, thick uppercuts both politically and personally. The power doesn’t exclusively lie in the speed or skill inflicted with each wound Dangers delivers to the status quo or to Al Brown’s exes, but instead with the sharp underlying themes of, you guessed it, anger. Brown’s foray into both personal and political territory with his vigorous words so well-composed permits insight into the true perverseness of Brown’s world. On "Half Brother, All Cop," Al confesses with his constant, ear-splitting volume and vehemence that, “I don't love you. I don't even like you. What you do makes me abhor you,”
and it holds just as much significance as his assertion that, “In my perfect world there would be no police. Yet we would still function in relative peace.”
The poignant lines shamelessly blend the personal and political, turning what usually are solely universal or political issues like disillusionment with the music industry or disgust with law enforcement into intensely personal anthems. To execute this feat, Dangers don’t rely merely on hardcore’s usual implements. Dangers don’t rely on a specific weapon of choice to iterate their polemics, instead exuding their fury through a diverse array of tools, be it the horn intro of “War? What War?” the gang vocals, bass chugs, drum rolls, or poignant slower slower sections, the list goes on. Belligerent momentum builds from start to finish, as Dangers aurally assault unrelentingly.
The best part is, Dangers don’t give a fu
ck if you think Anger
is a classic. Philosophically, the band’s somewhat cold, harsh demeanor coupled with Anger
is a combination so deliciously self-indulgent yet impossible not
to want to partake in. The band takes punk-rock and hardcore cliches in both attitude and music, invigorating them with sincerity and genuine passion that’s sure to cripple even the most toughened of ears. The multitude of cathartic resolutions reached on Anger
truly separate the intense showcase of intelligent ferocity and ire, making Dangers’ first full-length one of the best albums of the decade.