everywhere: ahhhh … blessed acculturation. Grindcore perpetrators Transient — where are their sibling bands, Histrionic
and Pithy? — are having it all in the inveterate way Neil Perry totally had it
(but didn’t). Fortunately, Transient’s self-titled release doesn’t seem to be,
ahem, for English class. Their album art: a totemic blimp of carrion streamered with the intestines and/or hair and/or gigantic
vasculature of the human corpse-ballast it’s consuming. Their image: fiendish,
acrid, sky-scraping screams courtesy Krysta Martinez, who seems to be the
universe’s look-it’s-a-woman compensation for one Palin. And, with song titles
like “Pythia Misunderstood” (… never good), “Swallowing Androcles” (the
fatalist’s turn-about: “not the lion not the lion not the lion!”), and
“Cataphora” (existential grammar), they’re no philistines.
ambiguous coloratura of this marrow-sucking onslaught, the forked lightning keening
against the fierce thunder of instrumental, the slow yawning out of intestines
through the mouth in a long smelly string of fate, cries and composition alike
as sloughing skin from this visceral snake. Despite the edu-maceration, titles
like “Bottom Feeder,” “Goad,” and “Snoop Scion” most closely approximate the lurid
wryness of Transient’s aesthetic wink.
“Bottom Feeder” lures with bass bait and retches fetid high
screams. “Goad” posits a compositional transmutation from a tentacular maw of
drums. “False Philanthropy” flays itself into an oi! strut and a spaghetti
western chafed swagger. “Narcissus Nemesis” is a grindcore outfit performing
math rock and polka. “Sustain the Yoke” … just listen to the screams at 0:46!
“Antipostivism” lassos a frenetic post-hardcore roll, and its brutal
syncopation and declamatory vocal comport invest it with all the pretense of an
anthem. “Praying Mantic” spills its lyrical guts in a matter of seconds, then
bids it forth with a spewed “go!!!” “Waste Not” features a cramped stick clap:
1, 1234. “Cataphora” unleashes a ruthless stepwise riff. “Pythia Misunderstood”
is a Senecan clamor of sweltering but detached zeal, and drummer-boy roundups
march the song out. “The Shape of Grind to Come” can’t pick a time signature!
“Positivism” employs a classic Black Sabbath riff, and, in one of Transient’s most
pregnant moments, cries out, “We are saved!” … so living up to the legacy of
its title. “Big Man Plick” is both gritty and suave. “Snoop Scion” convenes vox
and instro in unison for floodwall impact. “Swallowing Androcles” constructs
with neat bookends. Lastly, “Van Grinder” features nodule-grating vocals; by
Transient’s end, Martinez sounds like Jeremy Irons on a bad day.
Yes, please please the crowd. Think-much-of-yourself-do-you? Choice for “The Shape Of Grind To Come” implies that Transient is the next to
be Refused, but, dear Transient: please maintain your ‘chimerical’ viciousness.
There is such a thing as ‘carrion comfort.’
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