With the phrase "Hardcore" being used to on reality based TV show all over cable to describing Hip-Hop artists who are hawking a clothing line available at K-Mart people sometimes forget it was used to describe the nastier side of skin flicks and the most pissed off forms of American punk rock.
This is probably for the best.
Porn many times more extreme can be found with a click or two of a mouse. Hardcore punk, which was once the sound of bored and disenchanted kids screaming in defiance of all the bullshit around them, somewhere took a hard turn and became a bunch of shaved headed goatee sporting fat ass tough guys armed with palm mutes and a Dimebag Darrell instruction video. Recklessness replaced with uniform syncopation like a bunch of humorless asshole gym class leaders if they formed a band in the locker room.
Hailing from New York City Crazy Spirit play HARDCORE (but not NYHC as that all seem to have degenerated into the meathead music I was bitching about above) the way it should sound.
The singer gurgles, grunts and brays like he eats fiberglass insulation for lunch then wraps a bare electrical chord around his neck while spewing almost unintelligible words. The guitars splatter feedback and going off the rails power chords blur the lines between simple blind drunk rage and absolute criminally insane behavior. Mucho distorted bass rumbles as if it's an avalanche of mud and bowling balls barreling down a mountain while the drummer sounds like he was kicked out of a martial marching band for worshiping the altar of Animal from the Muppets. Whether it's taking your basic Germs thrash (which seems to be the jumping off point most of this band leaps off) on tunes like "Little Boots" and "I'm Dead" or sounding like hicks gone hardcore channeling murder blues made by serial killers on tracks like "Troll" and "I Become A Man"-Crazy Spirit are reclaiming the noise back for the misfits, malcontents and rejects.
TOXICSTATERECORDS@GMAIL.COM
Porn many times more extreme can be found with a click or two of a mouse. Hardcore punk, which was once the sound of bored and disenchanted kids screaming in defiance of all the bullshit around them, somewhere took a hard turn and became a bunch of shaved headed goatee sporting fat ass tough guys armed with palm mutes and a Dimebag Darrell instruction video. Recklessness replaced with uniform syncopation like a bunch of humorless asshole gym class leaders if they formed a band in the locker room.
Hailing from New York City Crazy Spirit play HARDCORE (but not NYHC as that all seem to have degenerated into the meathead music I was bitching about above) the way it should sound.
The singer gurgles, grunts and brays like he eats fiberglass insulation for lunch then wraps a bare electrical chord around his neck while spewing almost unintelligible words. The guitars splatter feedback and going off the rails power chords blur the lines between simple blind drunk rage and absolute criminally insane behavior. Mucho distorted bass rumbles as if it's an avalanche of mud and bowling balls barreling down a mountain while the drummer sounds like he was kicked out of a martial marching band for worshiping the altar of Animal from the Muppets. Whether it's taking your basic Germs thrash (which seems to be the jumping off point most of this band leaps off) on tunes like "Little Boots" and "I'm Dead" or sounding like hicks gone hardcore channeling murder blues made by serial killers on tracks like "Troll" and "I Become A Man"-Crazy Spirit are reclaiming the noise back for the misfits, malcontents and rejects.
TOXICSTATERECORDS@GMAIL.COM
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