BURNMAN: Notes for a Catalogue for an Exhibition: CD

It’s no secret by now that I hate emo in all its sickly hues, cacophonous tones and pretentious intents. A good day for me would be one in which all the little emo lemmings took a flying fuck off the nearest cliff, taking every one of their putrid CDs along for the ride. That said, I liked this disc. Sure, it has its share of overblown artistic reach, soaring guitars and stream of consciousness lyrics, but it also has one hell of an edge, and that alone allows it to pull itself out of the dung heap. Behind all the usual trappings is one mother of a rhythm section, notably a drummer who lays a solid foundation by gleefully wailing on his skins in wild abandon, giving the whole thing an almost early Die Kreuzen intensity, albeit sans the thrash beats. No faggy boo hoo cry in my Fugazi backpack swill here, boyo. This stuff is as anything remotely related to punk rock should be: a pure emotional purging of anger, desperation, rage, tragedy and every other negative adjective you can think of. Fuck, I could probably stomach all the whiny crybaby shit all those other bands force‑feed the masses if they at least sounded the least bit upset about the whole thing, you know? Despite all the annoying genre trappings to be found here, these guys sound pissed off and that makes all the difference.

 –jimmy (No Idea)