#mark van fleet

Alienator, World of Hate 7" (Convulse)

New recording from Portland, OR's Alienator following a 2021 demo. The band plays a sort of mid-tempo hardcore, burly almost-metal riffs and gruff vocals filling out the space afforded by the lower speeds. Passes surface level inspection, especially "I'm Nothing" or the stomping outro of "Social Disease," but all of the parts here don't really coalesce into the total package as advertised. Lyrics are clunky and hackneyed, even by hardcore's low standards, and I'm annoyed on each subsequent listen at how chugging death metal riffs are teased at the beginning of "Senseless Violence" and the title track but not fleshed out. It's all competent and fashionable, from the artwork to the execution, but doesn't really distinguish itself and, at worst, inflicts some secondhand embarrassment.

Delco MF's, March of the M.F.'s 7" EP (MF Records)

Seems recently any hardcore that catches my ear has to be verging on grindcore tempos, and Delco MF's do it better than most. The first 7" was great, and March of the M.F.'s continues the winning streak. There are some strong riffs on here, most potent on the title track, but this is a band primarily carried by the vocals and the drumming. "Future World" is a prime example, the vocals and violent tom fills racing and tripping over each other, until "Death of Me" pleases the crowd waiting to mosh. Six songs in six minutes, no room for filler (or, perhaps thankfully, a lyric sheet) - almost makes me agree with the "Hardcore Rules / Fuck Off" banner pictured on the back of the sleeve.

Mark Van Fleet, Vordenal CS (Refulgent Sepulchre)

I saw Mark perform as Face Place a few years ago, and it was cool, but felt very restrained and almost academic in its approach to noise. I was hoping for something a little closer to the heaving noisescapes he created as 1/2 of Sword Heaven, and now Vordenal comes close to fulfilling that wish: syrupy thick loops are urged to disintegrate, harsh sounds reflect off thin metal walls and a general unease presides. There are tracks, but this works as two side-long pieces. Side A's a little roomier, sounding like a high rise construction site on a windy day, creaking metal-on-metal and eerie whistling, until bolts shear and welds fracture during the swirling fever pitch of "Vordenal Slurp." Side B is just two tracks, and here's where the anxiety begins to burrow under your skin. The chomping and pounding of "Volume Fog" is particularly effective, and its guts are poured into the atonal drone of "Dungeon Summer," a drone that begins to pile on itself and buckle. When I listened to Vordenal on an airplane recently, it felt as if the plane were being ripped apart until the abrupt end of "Dungeon Summer" allowed the oppressive hum of steady cruising back in. What Mark's doing is in the league of Tom Darksmith and Aaron Dilloway, albeit a bit less polished than their recent works, but the stitches showing works in Vordenal's favor.

Life Expectancy, Decline CS (Iron Lung)

One of maybe three hardcore releases to leave a mark this year, Life Expectancy's Decline is a cavernous, feedback-ridden bullet train ride, except you're strapped on the outside like Mad Max in Fury Road. Plenty of noise here, including intro/outro on/off ramps, but the middle section is a pretty potent slurry of metal and punk, a combo that just doesn't add up for most bands. Vocals are a vicious black metal caterwaul, becoming more and more prominent as the tape plays, fully emerging on "Liquidated Flesh" and "S.M.R.A." where the tempo slows just enough for things to get really grimy. Blinding, blown-out, bleak: all applicable here, even if they curiously titled a track "Eggz." Completely unassuming packaging and quietly released, Decline sets a new bar for the skulls-and-chains crowd to gawk at.

Romance, Seven Inches of... 7" EP (self-released)

Hastily assembled sorta-supergroup from Sydney mows down the corny "murder punk" genre tag and reclaims the violent moniker for themselves. The band plays well - bass and drums thump and wallop, guitar slashes with abandon - but the draw here is the feral vocals of Jane, who must've had blisters on her vocal cords after the performance here. "Romance," "Fast Car" and "Surprise" are almost uncomfortable, blurring the line between performance and actual malice, and it's chilling in the best way. Nothing polished here, and all the better for it; you can definitely see why the band chose to self-release these tracks even after a couple of years. There is a palpable ferocity and recklessness across Seven Inches of..., and whoever says "fuckin' nailed it" at the end of "Sex Pact" ain't wrong.

Tàrrega 91', Fill de la Merda 7" EP (La Vida Es Un Mus)