You are witness to a unique event. This review is literally written at the end of what is known as a ‘bender’. According to the urban dictionary: “A term commonly used to describe a period of time (preferably more than 24 hours) spent escaping life’s harsh realities (marriage, work etc) Consumption of alcohol and drugs is a must. Anything goes”. Yup I am writing this on the very tail end of said bender, and do you know what the soundtrack to this particular bender is?

The Acacia Strain’s Wormwood.

Ya see, here’s what happened – the ol’ wife and I got into one of our many arguments about stupid shit; cleaning, responsibilities, sex, in laws, sex, money, selling our house, sex, and all sorts of other mundane bullshit. So, as the impasse ended she took our daughter to her aunt’s house for the day, while I stayed home and did my inane list of chores, that I’m supposed to do while she goes out for the day ― as any obedient, whipped husband does. But as the day wore on, I seethed and brooded more; my last slave chore being mowing the yard in 98-degree Missouri heat. And guess what I listened to for the whole hour and a half while I sweated my delicate English balls off? Wormwood.

For the entire time I worked, endured, languished and internally cursed my life, The Acacia Strain fed my anger. Fed it with the band’s known trademark heaviness, and despite what your definition of heavy is, or despite the fact the band is admittedly a one trick pony now, the fact remains: The Acacia Strain are indeed one of the heaviest bands around. They have found their niche and stuck with it.

And so, vocalist Vincent Bennett roared the mood suiting likes of “I don’t give a fuck anymore” (“Ramirez”), “I find you fucking disgusting” (“BTM FDR”), “I’m Not fucking sorry” (“The Impaler), “I hate everything you love” (“Jonestown”)  and “This is how the world ends ― not with a bang but with a Whimper” (“Nightman”) ― my anger grew, burned and seethed. Thus, I did what any pussy whipped, neutered husband does in my situation: I went out drinking. A lot. All the while fueled by Wormwood.

As it turns out, The Acacia Strains’ fifth album is the perfect soundtrack to a alcohol fouled bender. It’s so full of piss and hate it literally breeds violence, loathing and malice. Every lurching, pummeling note and loping down-tuned riff―while slightly reminiscent of the band’s last two efforts (The Dead Walk, Continent)―simply destroy on a sonic level that’s primal, volatile and utterly suited to a alcohol fueled binge of epic proportions.

Quite simply, the aforementioned tracks, as well as simply devastating moments as heard on opener “The Beast” (arguably the band’s heaviest riff ever), the closing of “The Hills Have Eyes” and start of “Terminated” are perfectly suited to neck snapping, neighbor yelling, cop finagling, wall punching, spouse cursing, and waking up naked in the yard -moments of sheer emotion. And I loved every fucking bruising, pummeling minute.

On that note. Anyone know any good marriage therapists or divorce attorneys?

[Visit the band's website]

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