Review Summary: A late-stage skronk surprise for everyone’s stocking this year
On first listen, it’s might feel like these Georgia boys have been imbibing more tincture of Chat Pile than is strictly necessary to ward off the scabies. It’s also going to be clear that they’re capable of just as much in the lurch-and-howl department, that their breakneck shifts in mood and style let them paint with a rather broader palette than their dour midwestern counterparts, and that they’re just as interested in writing a superb moshpit freakout as they are in sketching those roaring portraits of hell. So if the conceptual stakes are a bit lower for Buice going in (and honestly, good for them), the results are no less fascinating and frequently more immediate, a fact which is so much in the band’s favor I was struck by how immediately
great it felt for a band to be able to rely on songwriting chops and sheer balls-out fury rather than conceptual weight and high-mindedness.
So if craft is what’s in favor here, so be it and keep those helpings of this sort of thing heaped high. Pigeonhole this immediately as razor-wire post-hardcore oiled liberally with the lumbering likes of the ‘Lizard, and dive headfirst into the pit. Hayden Locke and company know their trade like few others in this scene and their trade is skronked-out riffs, moshpit freakouts and an innate understanding of what makes good post-hardcore so exciting at its best, a sense of just how thrilling those buzzing dissonances and splattering time-shift breakdowns can be. The primary impression is of a band hungry just to lay its imprint down on its chosen scene and
damn, do they succeed.
The patience, energy and dynamism throughout carries through the album with nary a wasted moment, a formula that only sweetens as the album progresses. The patient buildup of opener “Crooked Girl” into the squealing “The Sun”, which breaks into an absolute shrieker of a rant in its last minute only sets the stage for the acrobatics to come. Guest vocals from Karina Teichert come as a welcome breath of air on “Untitled”, her manic whisper-to-yowl rant crescendoing into shrieks and howls like some unhinged version of “The Great Gig In The Sky”. The break into a double-time freight train bit on “Apocalypse Now?” is such a perfectly-timed little blast into the listener’s consciousness one can’t help but smile, and the nervous clanging drum and tapped-guitar intro of “221935” sliding into that blasting noise-rock refrain like an Ithacan into a Cyclops’ maw is one of the great glee-inducing noise rock moments this year. The album is just peppered with brilliant little moments like these, little touches that play to Buice’s impeccable sense of songcraft, their knack for big crests in a sea of little roller-coaster waves, their kingship in the field of furious musical fluidity.
So what better way to end a year than with one of the finest slices of noise-rock/post-hardcore this side of
The Lamb as Effigy? Buice's
One Day You'll See The Sun is an exhilarating journey through the realms of manic energy, infectious fun, and unapologetic, noisy brilliance. From start to finish, be captivated by an audacious blend of distorted riffs, unpredictable rhythms, and irrepressible charisma. Buice have dropped a year-ender that will both demand and reward your attention, giving that sweat-drenched buzz-or-howl that only the finest examples of this style can provide.
