As wild a ride as briefcore is, it's quite difficult to screw up a 30-second song. We all know the recipe: A thrust of blast-beat punk drumming, a jab or two of distorted guitar, and an all-out ream-job of screams, yells, Oh, and don't forget zany song titles that take an afternoon to read (ex: "The Walking, Singing, Cotton Candy-Vending Candles Ate My Ass and Now My Azaleas Are Wilting").
So do Head Wound City accomplish anything above and beyond the standard quota for speed skronk? Awww hell-to-the-no (trademark that Whitney, you smutty-grubbing ho)! But the quartet – helmed by trendy vets Justin Pearson, Gabe Serbian, Cody Votolato, Nick Zinner, and Jordan Blilie – DO slap the listener upside the grill with all they have, each member pitching in a signature riff/screech beat that could only come from its source.
Note the snare/cymbal syncopation of the snaky Serbian; the gabby grunts of Blilie; the jumbled jabs of Zinner; the bouncy bass of Pearson (Votolato's not playing his usual instrument, so we'll skip him) – each factor in the Head Wound City equation is draped in dread and plum in-the-red, and I'll be turked by a starving ox if I'll penalize HWC for milking the genre of their choice for all its worth, slurping any unexplored curd like a baby suckling its bottle. A sickeningly short burst of energy, Head Wound City's minus-ten-minutes of tenderness is worth the price of admission... if the price of admission is under $7.99.
1. Radical Friends
2. I'm a Taxidermist I'll Stuff Anything
3. Pride Class
4. Shut College
5. New Soak for an Empty Picket
6. Thank You
7. Michael J. Fox
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