Review Summary: "Anger is a brief madness" - Horace, Epistles
Galleons’ sole purpose is to infect the mind with frustration; the process executed with techniques near indiscernible to the ear through which it enters. Blazing trails of anger surmounted with lavishing displays of dissonance, frenetic leads, throw away time signatures, and a vocalist who encapsulates everything between death metal growls to Mikee Goodman-esque cleans. Honestly, don’t fu
ck with Galleons, they don’t sound like the kind of band that settles an argument with words – solely because they don’t waste time putting forth an understanding in their lyrics. Breakdowns are a facet but never a factor as they're dropped as soon as they find footing aiding in the tortured comfort Galleons are consistently creating. The tension’s wrought with despair but lulled with a sense of premise as there are moments of clarity, however few and far between. Of course this is a subtle tactic enforced before reengaging the madness.
is only three songs long, Galleons cover more in the span of two minutes than a modern metalcore band does throughout their existence. Oh, did I say metalcore? Truth be told, Galleons know no bounds. There are clear traces of The Dillinger Escape Plan
running through their veins with hints of The Arusha Accord
splicing their breaths. Heavy fans of dissonance, surely, they mark their territory with blistering speeds racketeering all the mosh worthy segments in the most unnoticeable of fashions. What I mean is, Galleons portray instances of beauty and beast aligning fans of distancing genres without even a blink of the eye.
Between the crushing opener that cast spells of incandescent noodling, something that wouldn’t feel out of place on a BTBAM opener, and its intoxicating successor that battles intuition of pop necessities, Galleons set up a difficult premise. Exactly how diverse can the band be within three songs? Pretty freaking diverse (excuse my French). The mellowness shared between tracks two and three is a folly. Abetting the madness the closing two minutes are the most frantic and unsettling of the eight minute piece. Bouncing throughout death-pop-synth styling’s before rounding out with a disconnected breakdown that rivals fury heard on any Victory Records release.
With so much substance packed within eight minutes I still feel as though I’ve left something out. Did I mention the female guest spot that croons its way halfway into the record and then leaves without even an acknowledgement of her presence? The pulse pounding drumming that segues each of the songs triumphant moments of build ups and then cutoffs before the seemingly disparaging cliffs? And how could I have ever missed a moment to mention the ambient aspects Swans
faintly creates? My mind seems to be infected.