Review Summary: So fcuking heavy i spilt my tea shit
If you're a hardcore punk music listener person guy dude
like me, chances are the word heavy
has lost all meaning to you. Riff-hardened specimens such as us aren't easily wooed by puny
chugga-chuggas or pathetic
do-dun-do-dun-do-reeee-reeees. We are (evidently) real men
(grr). You can imagine my surprise, then, pressing play on Diaspora Problems
and having my undersized, overcompensated man-testes ripped clean off. The culprit, blade
in hand: SOUL GLO.
Surprisingly, the Philly 4-piece's 6-year-in-the-making Epitaph debut contains none of the breakdowns, killswitch gimmickry or brickwalled production with which one would usually satiate a neanderthal of my inclinations. Instead, Diaspora Problems
is filled to the fucking
brim with heart and soul. Every single second of every single minute of every single single
on this stonker of an LP bleeds an impossible, intoxicating energy
, the group converting the violent reverberations of hXc, skramz and hip-hop into a giddy blur of flailing limbs and unfading grins that may well be my album of the year.
Each old-school riff and meaty cymbal crash feels weighty and intentional, like smashing a brick into your neighbour's fuckhead
face after they accidentally trimmed your prized petunias, again
(bastard). The same goes for Pierce Jordan's breathless vocals, breathtaking in his unique mangled melding of screeching and spitting - his garbled, rapid-fire stanzas sporting the catchy cadence of a rap verse despite being barked with enough decibels to trigger a tsunami. The chameleonic rhythm work of GG and TJ provides essential scaffolding for these lyrical acrobatics, propelling Jordan’s inaudible musings on the ugly state of things that, for once, actually deserve the genius.com
The riotous result is entirely unintelligible, yet immaculate in its construction. Nothing here is superfluous, accidental or left to chance, each pulsating movement hitting like an iron fist in a velvet glove. You'll find your head bobbing and toes tapping despite the audial onslaught, as the band pile on flourishes of brass ("Thumbsucker") and full-blown freestyles ("Driponomics"), adding generous dabs of orange and purple to an otherwise desolate soundscape. Some delightfully breathable production seals the deal, the sonic assault sounding as if it were conceived and tracked in a derelict warehouse rather than a soundproof booth because, well, it was
(how punk is that?!).
The sum total of their 2022 opus is a straight upgrade to SOUL GLO’s already brilliant back catalog, bursting with scorching new takes on old ideas and enough spirit and passion to set the entire scene ablaze. However, don’t take my word for it - I’m just some feckless sod, bleeding out onto the carpet, nuts forcibly extracted from his being. See for yourself. Listen to Diaspora Problems
. The (un)orthodox cult of punk eunuchs is now accepting new members - don’t delay!