Bones, Bones

I’m a pretty big fan of the recent revival of the Swedish death metal sound. From Black Breath to Entrails, the sound is back in a big way. And, like every other trend that gets rehashed to mince meat, there are some incredibly uninventive music piggy-backing on those who show even the slightest hint of success. Chicago’s Bones ain’t one of those bands. These guys may be riding the New Wave of Old School Death Metal, but they aren’t riding the same bus as every other band out there. Plus, they have kick ass album artwork.

There’s a viral, punk-infused attitude to the band’s music that creates an atmosphere of thick, suffocating smog permeating evil as fuck metal that is raw, crusty and violent. As far as debuts go, Bones’ self-titled effort (released through Planet Metal) is one of those albums that grabs you by the balls with a calloused dirty fist and squeezes until you start to like the pain — only to then stomp on your man-parts with gristle-crusted boot heels.

Bones erupts from the gate with destructive power in the form of “March of the Dead,” a song that refuses to give ground to any thing other than the bludgeoning riffs and pummeling, bestial rhythms. Vocally, the snarling barks and growls fit the punk-influenced sound perfectly. The rumbling bass could crumble buildings while the loose and manic drum work lays waste to everything in the band’s path.

There’s an underlying groove throughout that seethes from the depths of the album here and there to help break up the back alley beat-down these guys are hurling at your cranium. The riffs that dominate “Bloodlust” have a Motorhead-like vibe that thrashes along as loudly as possible while “Bitch” goes for the heavy handed approach with pile-driving, maniacal drums, loose riffs and a more-aggressive-than-you delivery. The Devastation cover “Apocalyptic Warrior” is a stand-out an album full of stellar material. Other tracks that you cannot miss are the rabid “Slowburn” and the groovy-as-hell “666.”

To sum up all my blathering, Bones don’t fuck around. The band’s brand of death/thrash is grimy and raw, tinged with more pent-up anger than a caged grizzly that hasn’t been fed in days and continually poked and prodded by some lazy fat bastard in a pith helmet. Eventually the grizzly will get out and feast wholeheartedly on gristle and flesh. Bones’ debut effort is the aural accompaniment to that gnarly feeding frenzy.