(Force Feild Records)
A pal of mine tips me off on heaps of talented bands, many of them hailing from near his hometown. Balaclava is one such band. Group of five fine gents, two main throats amongst them—one, that of a vitriolic banshee, and the other, a dungeoned innocent recently released, decrying political maneuvers and the personal woes affiliated. The drumming is as precise as a weathered blacksmith’s smelting hand, a d-beat coursing down through marrow, bursted ore belching in the flames, with drum rolls on the upswing, plodding passages cuffing his shoulder, cymbals sparking off the anvil. Soaring riffs. Blackbirds, I imagine, circling a firepit, gleam buried in their feathers and under their wing-shadows, igniting, spiraling, nose-diving. I am reminded of Tragedy because any neo-crust/d-beat hardcore band reminds me of them, but more so I am reminded of Kakistocracy, to be accurate. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, sheltering, befriending Balaclava, and, lastly, seeing Balaclava play—luckily, they happen to punish.
http://www.myspace.com/balaclava
(Alex Moysaenko)
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