In 2010, I discovered a very weird movement. It was the open sharing of music on small blogs, not unlike this one, from bands on very small labels all over the country. One of the two great finds I came across (the other being Raw Nerve who did not garner any mention on KYS which is kind of lame) was Slices. I don’t exactly remember how Slices came to be discovered in my sonic forest of noise, but man, what a shocking surprise.
Slices, and many other bands that I found in this blog culture, harness a type of punk rock hardcore that predates grunge. It’s a combination of wanting to capture the sonic face fuck of Black Flag, but not quite having the full understanding of how exactly it was that Ginn and Co did this. There are a few other notable bands, (Fan Death’s Twin Stumps come to mind) as well, but there was something palatable about Slices effort Crusing that really shone through.
This is brain-damaged music to say the least. In their softest moments, they resemble a worn out car belt, screeching slowly as the last bits of life leave. At their loudest moments they are an onslaught of broken tunings and poundings with a singer that sounds absolutely murderous. Slow or fast or even at a mild, drudging tempo Slices delivers a savage, hostile environment in which they troll around looking for victims.
So why is this violent, off-putting noise so appealing? Because it is the essence of the disenfranchised. So much of today’s so-called pop music is created by self-indulgent, self-serving, boring ass man-children who believe the world is out to get them. The music of Crusing is about people who realize the world has forgotten them, and that of course is so much worse. This is not the desperation of the hunted or wanted, but the ghostly cries of the forgotten.
There is an over abundance of over produced, slick, pretty music fronting to be made by angry young white boys that is just boring as fuck and sounds like a unicorn smiling. There are no fairy tales in Slices world view. There is plenty of hip-hop corroding American airwaves that is all about a struggle to obtain money, a mere shadow of the same capitalistic tendencies that leave us all disenfranchised and disengaged. But there is no want or desire or any immediate comfort to be found in the groves of Crusing. This is the horrors of being left behind in a town that has all but dried up and died. There is no one to hear the terrible screams, so why not just scream louder?