Botch
American Nervoso

THE REVIEW

Meanwhile, bragging about knowing Botch is akin to gaining prestige and credibility among various categories of music experts and extreme music nerds. Come on, we’re talking about Botch: pioneers of a genre that sits at the intersection of brutality and intelligence, if you sell it this way I can guarantee you’ll earn the respect of all these lovely pogo enthusiasts without knee pads but with mouthguards.

In the mid-90s, the dream of every respectable hardcore group in the northeastern U.S. was to have dinner with some handsome metalheads from the former Confederate states of the South. Botch, however, were from Tacoma (Washington State) so their love, being so distant, had to at least be rewarded with the Abbott brothers, consenting. Clearly, to satisfy the musical appetite of such strapping fellows, the recipe would have required many, too many, damned Watts. It happened that the sturdily built brothers appeared in singer Dave Verellen’s dream, attending what would become an extremely flatus-filled banquet. Vinnie Paul was slightly constipated. To feel lighter, he left his double pedal at home and went straight for whiskey and acid drowned ice cream, adding that extra psychedelic touch. Dimebag Darrell gladly accepted Dave’s algebra explanations and in return gave him a handful of his riffs. A substantial but quick meal: after about 35 minutes, with the alarm ringing, Dave realized he had to materialize his dream delusions and gathered his buddies, who by the way, had all had the same dream. Additionally, Dave played the numbers 4, 31, and 76 on the Bari lottery.

Compared to the two subsequent furious and mathematical albums (probably better, but who am I to say?), this American Nervoso feels decidedly more fresh. Not fresh like Reinhold Messner licking a penguin on Monte Rosa, but not scorching like your grandmother’s mixed tobacco saliva tracks on the seats of your dad’s Ritmo in the August of 1984. The exact term some professors of reviewology have taught me is "accessible", in fact, this mathcore is dissonant but not too much, extreme but not repetitive, noisy but varied... and despite everything, accessible. Like your girlfriend in panties, turned away, while clipping her toenails.

After telling you about the sound of this album, I’d like to talk about the song structure and tempo changes used within. Actually, I won't. In fact, I’m writing random sentences because the length of this review doesn’t quite convince me. It seems a bit short. So I’m using this ploy to make the visual impact as soon as you enter remarkable. Just a moment of patience, we're almost there. The last line and then I promise to let you go. In the meantime, care for something to drink? Shall I make you a coffee? Okay, now it’s perfect.


P.S. Hydra Head Records, the label that released this album, is closing its doors. Aaron Turner, one of the founders (yes, the singer of Isis) announced it a few days ago, and many of us were shocked. It’s not just an ordinary label; it’s a reference point for an entire music scene and beyond. I’ll refrain from adding more comments to avoid sounding pathetic. But I’ll leave you the references: this is the blog and this is the store. Bye.