Author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
Artist: Sick Of It All
Label: Century Media
Release: 2006
Hard Core. We could kick off the lesson and the first contact with dry definitions that really say nothing. HC is more than just music and a polished look with military-short buzz cuts, tattoos, and scowling like you’re pissed off at the whole world. Beyond that, it’s about heart, rock-solid bonds with your HC backyard, brotherhood, zero compromise, and gallons of blood, sweat and whatever else. And in your encyclopedia, right next to the definition, you can with a clear conscience stick a picture of NYHC forefathers SICK OF IT ALL, who have been defending the banner and the true shades of real HC at heavyweight level for more than two decades. And the guys celebrated their birthday the way only they can – in 2006, on their 20th anniversary of existing and playing, instead of lounging around and wallowing in past glory, they put out probably their hardest record to date, signed to Century Media beforehand, and proved with a world tour that they don’t just belong at the very top of the genre’s quality ladder, but are, by my pick, the HC heavyweights Numero Uno!
Sick Of It All were never meant for the wishy-washy or for softened souls who naively fall for the bluff that everything in the world is just peachy. That you have to raise your fists and smash the system of repression and the usurpation by idiots is something every sane person already knows, but only a few dare to hammer their rage, anger, and simple solutions into shape as effectively as the record Death To Tyrants does, serving it up in its purest form from the very first listen.
No pretending, no beating the empty straw. From the moment you start the record, you have to realize you’ve jumped on a wild beast that only knows full-throttle gallop. As if this weren’t already their ninth album, guitarist Pete Koller, drummer Armand Majidi, bassist Craig Setari, and the furrowed throat of rage and political slogans, Lou Koller, melt into a fireball – a wrath of God, if you like. No hesitation, like a kick in the gut, a straight shot to the head and a swing to the balls, and before you know it you’re on your knees worshipping a new god who doesn’t pretend but sows revolution and messages, burns a trail through the atmosphere, and lands like a granite block right in the middle of a sleepy civilization. Like the obelisk from 2001: A Space Odyssey. To wake you up and get you moving. And the levers are hidden in thirty minutes of adrenaline.
The songs sound exactly the way they should: they’re written wisely, which is only possible after long years of experience and learning from mistakes. And you can’t do without those, even though S.O.I.A. only rarely cashed in a perfect soaking, even if every now and then they really did go “piss into the wind”. It’s not just playing with sentiments – the music is solid, carefully centered, and packs in the pearls of what these gentlemen actually stand for. Modern touches notwithstanding, it’s a return to the days of albums like Built To Last or Scratch The Surface, and you can also hear the pulse of the energy of Blood, Sweat And Tears. The songs are still heavy enough to crush and grind everything in front of them. They’re still fast. At the same time, the songwriting is balanced by the creative libido of four men who this time know exactly which direction they’re heading and what goal they want to reach. Every song is memorable in its own way, and stylistically, several elements flow into this conglomerate of HC perfection, all of them still reflecting the S.O.I.A. sound and soul.
The album opens with ‘Take The Night Off’. Sirens, and after the whistle, an ambush on the unprepared. A call to descend into the darkness of oblivion! Power to the oppressed hands! Lou lets the rage pour out of every pore, and after that discharge many would be left without enough strength to keep going – but not S.O.I.A., who sarcastically throw up their middle fingers, celebrate their existence and their rebellion against the system, and refuse to be gotten to. “Let’s celebrate that we don’t give a fuck!”.
The next cut is an explosion in the shape of a cut, ‘Machete’. The machete for slicing out rotten tissue is people who are determined to radically change what’s worth changing. The machete is people with a vision. After the demonic overture of the track ‘Preamble’ comes probably the most singalong slogan track, a hit, unmistakably branded with the dragon seal of NYHC craftsmanship, which, despite the years, hasn’t gone sour. “Death to tyrants!” and the first move will be made by the rebellious crowd. S.O.I.A. are merely heralds of the changes to come. Of the eruption.
Next comes a song about the eternal war, which is typical of white, red, yellow, and black people alike. ‘Always War’ is almost a call to your own Jihad. The choruses are short and sharp, the riffs ring out rich, there’s room for the ever-growing crowd to sing along, and the hard, energy-packed rhythms don’t let up in the rest of the album either. The steel chain goes on with ‘Die Alone’. Racing guitars and the optimism of dying in solitude. And the guarantee for it is rot from the inside. “So rotten on the inside / Garanty to die alone!” And around the fiery tongues dance the shadows of those who are sick of this state of affairs.
‘Evil Schemer’ sounds pretty metal. At least after the overture, which rocks the listener and shifts them into a higher gear by sheer momentum. Sing-alongs and an already familiar sonic manipulation that you can’t get tired of that easily. ‘Leader’ settles scores with the ringleaders behind the destruction of all the positive qualities of modern civilization or, as the eagle on the cover points out, of modern America. No milk and honey flowing here. People suffer and fight hunger and wars that aren’t theirs. For the White House. For a false God. For the welfare of the sandbox. For oil. In the name of democracy. Lou Koller’s dictatorially curt vocals are the metaphor. In times that are hellishly fast, addressing the masses has to be sped up too. Against the new-age Hitlers and with their own solution to modern problems. As if they’d written their own Mein Kampf, only this time the guiding principle is the positive idea of rebuilding a cataclysmically destroyed world into something nicer and better, resistance-style. But first, all the tyrants and oligarchs with their narrow-minded visions and interests have to be surgically removed. By force and unconditional revolt too, if necessary.
After the politicizing comes the reckoning with everyone who has spoiled the HC scene today to the point where HC became just a fashion accessory and not a lifestyle. Little helpless suck-ups – watch out: ‘Make A Mark’ lists all the reasons the masses’ stomachs turn, while those with stronger stomachs get robbed of heart. “How could there be influence with quality in short supply? Forced to watch this impotence: a dozen for a dime”. No pretending and faking that all this is perfectly natural! There’s plenty to learn from all this, even for the modern genre iconoclasts sitting on their golden thrones at various labels, creating fake starlets and stars in the form of metalcore boy and girl bands. Even if there’s something good in there, a pearl is less appealing when it’s buried under a ton of shit. And S.O.I.A. know it, and that’s why they raise the banner of HC colors even higher in the air, which is also taken care of by ‘Forked Tounge’, which packs more into a minute and a half than some people manage in their entire lifetime’s output. And for a lot of people, a much easier listen is the track ‘Sodom’. Catharsis for body and soul.
A somewhat more restrained, but no less powerful, salvo of anti-government shows of strength is the track ‘Faithless’. “Don’t count on government / For your security / Don’t count on any neighbour / Forget about!” is the intro to what turns out to be something Slayer, The Haunted, and a few others would be proud of too. Madsen’s touch has to show somewhere, right? And it shows in the rhythm and the kerosene spraying over S.O.I.A.’s carefully tightened valves. ‘Fred Army’ is a real joke in its marching instruction. Pogo for the uninitiated. And the professors are some of those who developed the dance or at least helped keep it alive. Close your eyes and you can see the foggy, smoke-filled rooms of the legendary NY club CBGBs, which closed its doors this year. For good. So that the tyrants of capital, who maintain their power through preventive wars and a cult of fear and perpetual threat, could witness their own display of the might of capital and orgasm of misery. And it’s exactly them that the follow-up is aimed at – ‘Thin Skin’, in which Lou and company ask, without mincing words, about the power or powerlessness of such idiocy.
And just like that we’re at the finale. ‘Maria White Trash’ is erotica that squeezes into a golden chalice all the finest fruits that were still left unsqueezed. It’s a monument to mediocrity and the little blinkered American. This time, let her name be Maria. There’s no immaculateness. There’s no one without sin. Even ignorance doesn’t excuse inaction, and surrendering to fate is, by the Sick Of It All definition, humanity’s original sin. After the enlightenment of the little man, the goal they aimed for from the start is reached. Only an enlightened person is strong enough to radically change the system. After capitalism, whatever social order can come. Even communism. What’s needed now is presence of mind and a clear vision of the necessity of rebellion. With that, the phenomenal ninth album from the main carriers of the NYHC idea comes together as a complete whole.
As always, Sick Of It All have managed, against all odds, to keep their life force and drive for a hardcore scene that has stagnated too often and is mostly monotonous. Thank God they’re not saying goodbye just yet, and with their honed expression and content that holds water, they keep the corpse of the spoiled in a positive moment of potential recovery. NYHC needs S.O.I.A. The world needs S.O.I.A., and Death To Tyrants is a must-listen for every open-minded individual. I guarantee you: once the message enters the curves of your brain, you’ll be begging to hear the record again and again. The album stands as a reminder and proof of what Sick Of It All have managed to build in their lives, and at the same time as a signpost for all those lost souls who don’t know exactly where HC should go. After fifteen doses of adrenaline, you might just have an inkling, right? With all due respect, the album deserves a perfect, top-notch score!
Lineup
Pete Koller – guitar
Lou Koller – vocals
Armand Majidi – drums
Craig Setari – bass
Production
Tue Madsen & S.O.I.A.
Tracklist
01. Take the Night Off
02. Machete
03. Preamble
04. Uprising Nation
05. Always War
06. Die Alone
07. Evil Schemer
08. Leader
09. Make a Mark
10. Forked Tongue
11. Sodom
12. Faithless
13. Fred Army
14. Thin Skin
15. Maria White Trash
ALBUM RUNTIME: 33:54
