Review Summary: This is Matanza with fewer jokes, heavier riffs, and absolutely no patience left for humanity
Oh, dear non-Portuguese-speaking reader… you have no idea what you’re missing by not diving headfirst into Matanza’s insane universe. There is an entire world of sarcasm, resentment, and booze-fueled lucidity here that simply does not survive literal translation.
If Música para Beber e Brigar (Music to Drink and Fight To) represents the birth of an identity, and A Arte do Insulto (The Art of Insult) marks full command of language, Odiosa Natureza Humana (Odious Human Nature) is the moment when Matanza abandons any remaining illusions about humanity. The band still laughs — but it no longer sounds like they’re having that much fun.
While Música para Beber e Brigar celebrates excess as collective catharsis and A Arte do Insulto turns mockery into an aesthetic method, Odiosa Natureza Humana sounds more bitter, more resentful, and far less interested in pleasing anyone. The humor is still there, but now it’s tainted with contempt. The loud laugh has turned into a crooked smirk.
It becomes clear that Donida and Jimmy London started taking their own lyrics more seriously. The jokes are still present, there’s still room to laugh — but the tone has shifted. Mockery now comes paired with judgment, however warped that judgment may be.
Musically, countrycore no longer plays the same dominant role it once did. The production remains dry and straightforward, exactly as the band’s rulebook dictates, but the riffs are heavier and less celebratory. Jimmy London (our Lemmy of the tropics) continues to tear everything apart with his raspy, naturally aggressive voice. Is he versatile? No, of course not. Does he still nailed it anyway? Hell yes.
And what about the songs themselves? This isn’t Matanza’s strongest effort. There are more fillers than usual. Still, when the album hits, it hits hard.
“Ela Não Me Perdoou” (She Didn’t Forgive Me) is hilarious and perfectly representative of the band’s logic: the narrator desperately tries to fix some monumental screw-up, while the “difficult woman” simply doesn’t buy his version of the story. You lost, buddy. Game over.
“Escárnio” (Mockery) brings a heavy groove anchored by the bass drum and a provocative set of lyrics, featuring one of the album’s most effective choruses. The image of a waiter wielding a trident turns moral reckoning into an eternal sentence: no matter how hedonistic or selfish your life has been, the bill always comes due. And there’s no discount.
“Conforme Disseram as Vozes” (As the Voices Said) is another standout. Direct, danceable, and relentless, the song carries a sense of inevitable forward motion. You almost want to jump into the pit and laugh along with the insane story of a schizophrenic man who blew up a shopping mall by obeying the voices in his head (and who even felt bad about destroying imported cars — but the voices assured him it would be worth it! lol).
“Amigo Nenhum” (No Friend at All) may feature one of the most uncomfortably honest lyrics in the band’s entire discography. This isn’t about sad loneliness, but about chosen isolation. Here, the absence of bonds isn’t tragedy — it’s relief. Within the context of Odiosa Natureza Humana, the song reinforces the idea that social ties are burdens, not salvation. It’s the opposite of the drunken camaraderie of previous albuns: no one wants to share the table.
In the end, Odiosa Natureza Humana finishes exactly the way it begins: spitting uncomfortable truths, laughing at its own ruin, and reminding us that no one here is better than anyone else — just more or less honest about it. It’s not a revolutionary album, it doesn’t change the course of Brazilian metal, it doesn’t reveal some hidden new version of Matanza lurking in the shadows. And that’s fine.
It’s a good record. Solid, straightforward, and bad-tempered in just the right measure. It has inspired moments, automatic stretches, and that occasional sense of lyrical and musical déj* vu that has always followed the band. But when it works, it works with conviction — sticky choruses and lyrics that hit hard precisely because we recognize ourselves in the mirror.
In the end, Odiosa Natureza Humana doesn’t ask for a standing ovation. It asks for a crooked half-smile, another gulp from the glass, and that uncomfortable realization: it’s not incredible — but it works.
And sometimes, that’s already more than enough.
