Review Summary: A soundtrack to Centrelink.
I do wonder which country holds the monopoly on drunkenness. My best guesses would probably include Russia, Ireland, or Queensland, and while Queensland isn’t
technically a country, its bountiful bevy of beers and beverages bummed off in bulk to the local bogans should be duly noted by even the most artisinal of alcoholic aficionados. While not all Queensland folk are bogans, most bogans are certainly from Queensland, and the goon spills into the streets like the blood of anarchy. A lengthy period of thought was put into trying to ascribe a word or few to Brain Resin’s boisterous debut because the album is about as compliant to categorisation as a drunk is to gravity. “Eureka”, I cried hypothetically upon mulling over this analogy in my head; Brain Resin are drunks. Heavy, punkish, psychedelic-fueled drunks. While
If Pain Persists certainly sounds moody and depressing at times, it is sad in a funny way, akin to a man slightly off his rocker singing “Advance Australia Fair” while hurling racial insults on public transport. It is a confusing sight to behold in the moment, and is an absolute hoot to share around the dusty veranda table in retrospect.
The bounding wobble Brain Resin traverse the Brisbane streets with is quite irresistible. I live vicariously through the Psudoku-esque math-wonk tomfoolery of “One Foot in the Abyss”; crusty sludge tones and a booze-a-nova doo-diddle breakdown in the second half clash with crushingly despondent strings for a collision of numerous levels of dissonance simultaneously and oh boy oh boy oh boy it makes me excited to be alive. If I were a better critic, I’d scrub it aside as an exercise in indecision.
If Pain Persists absolutely suffers from the well documented prog syndrome that plagues adventurous musicians everywhere; too much nonsense happens constantly. However, where these BTBAM-ites and Dream Theater hopefuls sink into a messy pit for their crimes, Brain Resin have a nifty Get Out Of Jail Free card in the form of already living in the pit. Stylistically, there are few (if any) groups playing around with sludge metal in the way this quartet does. It is punishingly hefty and that’s about the only consistent quality. “Too much nonsense” permeates every aspect of Brain Resin, not just the song structuring or instrumentation.
Surely this’d have its caveats, and it does. Law enforcement is a harsh mistress in the radical world of unemployment and Brain Resin have a bit of a penchant for becoming unbecoming with their alcohol abuse as the album ravages on. Tracks like “Resolution 1441” aptly lack any real feeling of resolution. When every riff and fill and wretched cry and rumble and lead clambers into being completely detached from that which came before it, it can be a challenge to say that, for as dynamic a release as it is, this record really showcases any truly stunning climaxes. And somehow, it doesn’t even matter ultimately! I’m gonna make the first half of this paragraph completely redundant now because this lack of climactic overload is almost entirely blindsided by the quality of ideas on display here. “Blood of Heathens” is front-loaded with gimmicks and back-ended with tension. It could be argued that the interplay between ska-esque strumming and straight-up blastbeats holds no greater weight than simply being included because someone in the band thought it’d be a good idea. Likewise, the emotional build-up towards the track’s conclusion (the only such thing of its kind on the entire record) might be nothing more than ticking a few boxes. And while you’d be almost certainly right both times, it’d take you a long damn time to do this for every bonkers segment in this record given the album is made up entirely of bonkers segments.
“DABADABA dubudubu DABADABADA budubu djuuuuuuuun dju-dju dju-dju dju-djuuuuuuuuun dju-dju dju-dju dju-djuuuuuuuuun”, spoke forth Ramon with much vigour and gusto, for he had whenceforth hearkened the tasty fill and thick riff dotted a minute into “Like Weeds (His Hero Is Gone)”. A pang of sorrow overtook him as he came to see the album was upon its last moments, and so he stood fast and cherished the juicy, sludgy grooves as they rolled on into a lowly grave. A single tear his cheek did mar, and crack open a box of chateau d’cardboard did he in honour of these imbibing beauties as they decomposed their last gnarly breakdown. His hero, most certainly gone. Advance Australia fair.
Stress is for losers but I can’t stress enough how entertaining everything about Brain Resin’s debut record is. Amanda Ylias’ goofy highschool punk rocker vocals on “Abolish the Hoarders” would be about as terrible as that idea sounds on any record that isn’t
If Pain Persists. Claudio Climaco’s perpetually unpredictable swagger behind the kit only has a semblance of identity in the very fact it doesn’t settle. Victor Roberts feels like an accomplished guitarist who’s never listened to a sludge record in his life. Michael Brackenridge has a dumb last name. And yet it all somehow just
works. Bravo to these Brissy rockers and their stupid music. It is disorderly and flatulent and I love it. They have successfully married hooch and heavy in unholy matrimony; you may now kiss the bride, adieu, adieu, to you and you and you. Honestly, this album is so dumb. Lmao.
