Elitist
Fear In A Handful Of Dust

An incredibly proud and provoking moniker, that of the Elitist. I mean, just in these times, when philosophers are racking their brains to lay the theoretical foundations of a just society (meritocracy? Affirmative action?), these four oafs bring up the much-maligned concept of an elite. However... however... when you look closely, what they play—or rather erupt—is not music for everyone, at least not on the first listen: only the die-hard, hopeless metalheads, filthy and flea-ridden, can digest this stuff without suffering an ulcer like the one after your mother-in-law's stewed deep-fried sausage.

Hailing from the dark depths of the city of Portland, the Elitists are the classic devastating group that roots itself in a hardcore-sludge matrix only to bloom into a varied spectrum of more challenging genres: from Doom to Black, from Death to Grindcore. Despite this multitude of disparate and desperate influences, you cannot help but think of the dirtiest Eyehategod, with a little more violence and much less charm. A gem with undeniably elevated potential, overflowing with ideas sometimes poorly executed and often organized worse. However, with its dual soul (one dooming, the other schizoid), this disc is capable of satisfying all extreme fans and those who do not seek only daring solutions, who do not always intend to drink at the pale source of purity but are also willing to endure half an hour of nihilistic filth.

"Fear In A Handful Of Dust" is a sick work capable of digging, with its perpetual guitars, into the depths of our suppressed instincts. And these are the records that teach true manners; gift it to your little cousins, give it to them. They will be eternally grateful, even after your uncles have smashed the Walt Disney stereo with bricks: they will become ready to accept everything with an axe. The Elitists allow us to put into action our roughest thoughts, to unleash our most perverse urges: stuff that not even good old Sigmund could handle. Take "Slowly Fucked And Force Fed": I dare you not to feel like shoving the teacher's apple in Diaz's mouth.

Another example of blatant usefulness: have you been dragged to a nightclub? Nothing wrong: blast this unexpectedly and watch how, at Joshua Green's irreverent "Bleeeargh," people recoil in horror, scream hysterically, leave their cigarette butts extinguishing on the dance floor sprinkled with used condoms, and exit the venue full of burns and scalds on their butts, shocked and whimpering, while you urinate in their posh Bacardi! Because you are young, the Elitists are young, and they can afford a blessed naivety in the face of a proposal that is indeed a bit one-track-minded (but not monotonous), yet kicks serious ass like few others.

Stuff that not even the stewed deep-fried sausage can compete with.

UH!