Primitive Man’s latest ep is an oppressive, aggressive slab o’ sludge…and a bit of grind…fine, slip in some crust parts too.  It’s an anthropomorphic equivalent to the imposing brutalist style housing project high rise that populate the part of town ,as whispered of by parents, “you don’t want your car to breakdown in”.  Zooming in through the gray concrete and steel to one of the apartments we find a dead eyed single male resident.  Trapped within his frustrated thoughts, within a filthy, state subsidized human pen, within a physically and society condemned neighborhood.   The type of area so commonly referred to by any rapper as, “the block”.  A veritable Russian nesting doll of total shit.  From a windows view are wastoids, junkies, and woefully unsupervised kids.  Jaded and crooked cops patrol, their presence uninterrupted and ever felt.  With a broken AC the noxious reek of mac & cheese, sunbaked garbage, and weed compounds the painfully dire apartment scene.  “With each shovel of dirt twice as much water fills the hole I’m in.  Everything is fucked!  I’ve gotta get outta here.”  The classic rat-in-a-cage scenario.  On go the headphones, BLAM goes the door.  Depressed and pissed, what tunes are going to fuel this hate-walk to the liquor store?  Choose Primitive Man’s Home Is Where The Hatred Is.

If you have a decent home audio setup, give the volume knob hell.  The drums are bottomless.  The reverb doesn’t fully decay from the last drum before the next bicycle chain-and-nail covered baseball bat strike to the next.  Having recently seen them perform live, I wince for those poor drum heads.  Drummer IS looks more like an MMA trainer and batters his kit accordingly.  The bass distorts and punishes like the well-stocked trunk of some drug dealers box Chevy.  Musicality is second to making the chassis vibrate.  Here the vibrations and rattling become integral to the overall dynamic. Such was the case in the small hall where I saw them.  The guitar is of similar effect.  Chunky, rhythmic riffs are picked, then left to sustain and feedback, making for a sound close to that of a badly worn serpentine belt screeching under the hood of the same box Chevy.  The production melts each instrument together to form one dense, dripping wall of sound.  I don’t think I’m off base to claim this record as very likely the heaviest of 2015.

“Loathe”, “Downfall”, and “Bag Man” both sonically and lyrically conjure the aforementioned scene.  Home is Where The Hatred Is chronicles the anxious and creeping progression of a modern Travis Bickle (Taxi Driver) from observer to man with a plan.  Paranoid?  Not in America’s current climate.  The rich are richer than ever.  Popular news media represents and feeds a politically widening canyon between liberals and conservatives, reducing individuals to mere color coding; reds versus blues.  The ubiquity of the internet age transmits all of the country’s racial, financial, and environmental failing’s right to our web browser.  Subjects that were once considered a cry of conspiracy are now 3 minute videos of unquestionable police brutality, the recent great recession, and drinking water that can be ignited to flame.  It’s no wonder the United States is considered a culture of fear.  However, fear can only simmer so long before it manifests as action. Well, not quite in this case, but don’t assume that’s a slight on the record.

The sludge parts sizzle and spit grease, but even when the songs shift to grind or d-beat they only threaten a possible explosion.  Like our character standing in front of a broken mirror, trembling, and maddeningly eyeing the AR-15 resting against the wall.  Final track “Marriage of Nothingness” is an instrumental and seals this critique.  The guitar oscillates uneasily, the bass is a droning river of molasses, and the accenting cymbals are pricks against the skin.  Over the sample of a moaning female the droning music increases in volume before fading to an end.  It’s not the resolution of violent action after the high blood pressure build of the previous 3 songs.  I imagine our character returned from the liquor store, prostitute in tow.  They pop a few pills, sip cheap whiskey, and he channels his collected despair into a sexual aggression.  The AR-15 remains silent in the corner of the room.  Nobody is dying today.  Temporary relief.  She’ll walk funny for a few hours for sure.  And the cycle continues.

From a 2014 www.cvltnation.com interview, the question is asked, “Mention 3 bands that inspired you to write the music that is Primitive man”.  Answering with dISEMBOWELMENT, Unearthly Trance and UGK..  That their answer included legendary southern rap group UGK drew me in further and confirmed my suspicions that they weren’t your usual metal band.  There’s not much in the way of groove, that pours out of the songs of UGK, or their fore fathers in EyeHateGod, but do share the themes of urban blight, mental anguish, and addiction.  I’m sold on all of it.

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