Holy, from Italy, play d-beat that is a rage-filled imitation of His Hero Is Gone and Hellshock. They’ve nailed the brooding aesthetic in spades with a ghostly cover photograph nearly lost in black. The music and lyrics are equally as typical. For example, the barfed vocals are blown out beyond coherency, the guitars are cut-and-paste hardcore riffage, and the lyrics are—to put it lightly—on the nose: “We’re the weeping middle-class herd. Ruled by the hypocrites, abused by the mediocre.” It’s not that I don’t enjoy Holy’s impeccably tight assault, agree with the sentiments, or appreciate the anguish, but if you must, call me jaded. I simply expect a bit more nuance in my hardcore nowadays. Dangers, from SoCal, are a prime example of how to tackle difficult lyrical subjects without having to cherry-pick the punk word bank.
–Sean Arenas (Adagio830, adagio830.de / Vitriol, vitriolrecords.com)