I'd like to introduce you to a 2x4 laced with polished barbed wire dripping with ill content and solely intent on bringing destruction to the senses and then some. This weapon floats the furious current bands like Throats
stir reviving the glorified hardcore-y days of Converge
. This unholy setting befits the now disbanded quartet Fight Pretty who, with only one album, cemented themselves as legitimate havoc ambassadors of the hardcore scene. Smoke Filled Womb
is the album that makes you wonder how the hell we've reached certains points in music today; much like the classic ECW match (an excellent comparative pair by the way) Fight Pretty embody their influences as much as they, carelessly of course, inhibit the albility to influence.
In revisiting the opening metaphor Fight Pretty pull no hidden punches recognized from the opening number, and while this is somewhat disconcerning knowing the limitations of said weapon, the importance is in the utilization of the weapon and it's this utilization that makes Smoke Filled Womb
such a threatening experience. Opener "Saltwater Newlywed" derives a creepy atmosphere setting the tone for this coaster building the tension with elongated chords and unidentifiable voices through a tape player; from there the massacre erupts and it's Jacob Bannon like vocals mixed with dirty punk for forty minutes. Blistering, unapolegetic, dirty punk. Harsh breakdowns with unsettling dissonance. Ignorant drum patterns that exist knowing no rules. Oh, and a hardcore bassist who's relevance is welcomed.
And like that I've gone and gotten ahead of myself. More than likely an after effect of the adrenaline rush surmounted from the beating given when listening to Smoke Filled Womb
. This is no surprise, the riled one inside will plead to enjoy the rumbunctious routine when exposed to the potent energy Fight Pretty possess. Similar to their predecessors Fight Pretty evoke hyped emotion with a distorted presence, like a broken window, the dangers there, as subtle as it may be, but the sights too remarkable to refrain from. This is partly what makes Fight Pretty so damn enjoyable; while delivering wreathes of hate packed in crunchy riffs and hard knock drum blats a sense of passion underlies the chaos bringing healthy satisfaction to the listening experience. Repeated ventures are a must as the album is dense and through that density breeds layered frenetic guitar leads, omnious vocal passages, nourishing lyrics (what's understandable that is), and hypnotic bouts of aggression rarely executed with such proficiency.
Of course perfection through such tribunal displays is a one in a million release, and quite frankly, this isn't the first record to explore frantic anger or to be void of any ballad(s) - the latter elevating the records mood that much further however. The slip into following their adorned idols rears its head all too often and the ability to disinguish between originality and influence
is murky. This feels like a minute point with all the well executed instumental aspects to be had here, from the gung-ho western breakdown coupled with death metal vocals on "Nightwakers" to the brutal environment "48th and Airport" distills feeding heavy bass drops and psychotic cymbal fills. It must be recognized that what's crafted on Smoke Filled Womb
is animosity in its purest form and when distinct emotions can be equivocated from a song let alone an entire album somethings been done correctly. After all how many purposes can a 2x4 with polished barbed wire serve"