Soldiers "End of Days"

At this moment, there exist exactly way too many incarnations of the touring breakdown. The toughguy brand of hardcore has -- since inherently never progressing -- regressed to the point of parodying itself. Indeed, there was a time I would have tolerated a band like Soldiers, who admirably manage to squeeze in brief musical interludes between mammoth moshparts. That time was the approximately six-week period when embryonic me could still call itself earless.

Soldiers don't lack talent entirely. Besides excelling at instigating fights between posturing meatheads, they're obviously talented at interacting with today's youth. Luring homeward-bound sixth graders with their adult cool (i.e. cuss words and cigarettes), these purveyors of mosh schemed around their collective inability to read or write, compiling page after page of (adolescent) rage. And while pinching lyrics from middle schoolers' diaries might appear to contradict the proclamation, "If there's one thing that I'll never give up, it's my fucking pride," it highlights Soldiers' wonderful sense of irony.

It may have been a calculated maneuver on Trustkill's part to "forget" to include liner notes and lyrics with my promo copy of End of Days, but my keen, fully-developed ears enable me to transcribe additional lowlights on my vomit-drowned keyboard: "Fuck you, I fucking hate you. I hope you die, I hope you fucking rot. Fuck you, you're fucking soft." Especially impressed by the final portion of that segment, Soldiers opted to feature it on their MySpace banner.

Especially unimpressed, however, I rejoiced when the demolition crew screaming over its power tools ceased emanating from within my speakers. Unfortunately, those subsequent minutes of blissful silence became my bane: the wasted minutes I should have been spent retrieving a razor blade, before the peace dissolved into the single worst rap I've ever encountered. Despite a legacy of bad judgement, the inclusion of this track trumps all. Over a monotonous bassline and the default "spooky" synth-effect, a wavering high-pitched whine, Soldiers manages to embarrass listeners in rooms of one. There's no semblance of flow, just a gruff-voiced anger-monger stumbling over syllables. And every line is an opportunity to usurp just-moments-prior established benchmarks of abysmal lyricism: "I should have known that you're a joke because you act like a clown"; "And I'm tired, so fuckin' tired I need a break / Break the bastard in two if your life's at stake."

For those who insist the world can never have enough Throwdown and Terror albums, End of Days swells the ranks of the indistinguishable.

An Audio Guide to Feeling Uncomfortable: "Smoke and Mirrors (+ Bonus)"

Bad music, unlike bad cinema, isn't fun. Purchase thirty minutes of discomfort at Trustkill Records.