Review Summary: I think the most shocking aspect of this release is the name Animal Skins still being available in the year 2010.
Of course, I’m not paid to think, however, I am paid for other things and when a release like B EP
rolls around I desperately wish I was paid simply to listen. There’s something so rewarding when you discover something like this. I mean I’m not even going to try and claim I’d prefer the feeling to a satisfying paycheck (psshh), but it makes me wish there was no money in the world and we could live off self-gratification - or something thereof. I mean just look at that album cover which alone could feed at least three third world countries in my now ever expanding utopia. Animal Skins are here to pick up where Botch
left off ten years ago. Literally. But it’s welcomed. An ill advised passing over the comparison would lead to a great blunder because this band means business – as if the beard didn’t signify this enough; with this release we’ve been given the emotional extended play of the year.
Chugs abound – gasp – along with 7 minute hardcore songs and
they’re from Boise, ID, I mean really, what could go wrong? Nothing; almost. The band gets several things right within the first four minutes of the release. Dissonance, lovely as ever, gnarly vocals that scrape the bottom of a tolerable barrel, and production value just shi
tty enough that it’s all melded with perfection. In fact the production is on that weird trip where the shi
tier it sounds the better it will be, and, I think I finally understand it. There are points in the release where the vocalist is simply inaudible, but the confusion in sound elevates the bands heaviness and progression in tracks. For instance halfway through “Dead Sunn” the band spend time listening to tattered vocals battle aggravated guitar noodling, and shi
t does it work, building to the EP’s most chaotic ending in fine, fine form.
They owe a lot to Botch
as their fingerprints are littered all across Animal Skins and this release; unorthodox breakdowns that lead to absolutely bat-fuc
king nowhere, repeated stanzas for minutes on end that would drive any untrained listener on edge, and by God, that minimalist attempt at sounding clean, all have their fair share of glory but these starlit moments are what make the album. When “We, Papremache” kicks in with that circling dissonant riff backed by death metal-esque vocals you know you’ve reached an evolution point with metalcore and thank God. In fact it’s one of those moments you’ll have when you’re like, ‘oh this is going to be big in twelve years’; see, that’s the kind of feeling I live for.