Laughing Hyenas
LIfe of Crime

Satan LAUGHING as you eternally rot....

People find it convenient to pretend nothing is happening; eventually, venal people forget... or perhaps they don't even imagine it.
Yet, there are people who have seen or eaten too much crap, people whose condemnation is to live life; defrauded of those bourgeois daily routines, socially integrated, proper, bigoted, a “normal” life in short.

But someone who has never had a damn thing from life finds light in their passions and sometimes the solution is worse than the problem, it consists in selling their soul... actually, the Laughing Hyenas, vomited up the soul before selling it, a badge of social protest.

It could be Brannon's raw power voice (Negative Approach: 1981-1984 / 2006 reunion) which still today doesn’t stop screaming, resonate in its own discomfort, against bourgeois slop, thus amplifying the value of those words, HARDCORE, which today sound uncomfortable, atonal, detached, like losers, in a society enlightened by lounge bars, flash from macromedia and sashaying behinds... all too SOFT.

Profane words, that make things ugly, while people dress their own mourning, between Christmas comedies and daily indifference, believing that life is one and that it's worth enjoying it... at the expense of those who die of hunger.

Thus, in 1990 the album that solidifies the Blues Punk talent of the Laughing Hyenas is born.

Those “diffractions” of sound made of screams and shipwrecked highs, to forget oneself in the miasmas of the sewers of an irreversible condition, the attempt to escape the inconsistency of ideological nihilism, leaving you more stripped than ever to have to live with your own existential voids; paradoxically find a way, among oxymorons such as “equilibrium”, “maturity” and “talent” to be irremediably hurled into an artistic union called Life of Crime.

A devastating Hardcore project, of strong sound impact, embellished with an animalistic acid-rock, inflamed by an obscene and rowdy blues (Hitman).

And so, in the full fervor of the notes, hypnotized and stupefied, you remain watching the classic fight club painting (Outlaw), where skyscrapers of a huge metropolis are sinking, devoured by the immense jaws of an end and a decline, which has long since begun its own countdown, but timely did not miss its appointment.

The ferocious vocals of Brannon take the band to new hardcore sounds (Everything I Want), it follows him steadfastly, but the captain, once again, is in the grip of the usual hallucinogenic delusions, with no entrance, no exit, a grand guignol, made of metropolitan existential voids... things that have lasted for more than thirty years now (Detroit docet).

It will be that rhythmic, distorted, out of tune, intolerant set, of those who drag themselves, degenerate and sick, among fumes and hallucinogenic trails, made of alcohol and drugs, with all its asocial squalor (Let It Burn + Kick), it will be the smell... it will be the ardor... it will be the doctor... it will be the inventor, I just say, that even today these gentlemen... rock (Here We Go Again + Wild Heart)!

A ferocious and deviant sound assault, precursor and father of all those psychotic deviations indoctrinating groups like Isis and Converge. Thus, I will have at least achieved the goal of reminding the DeBaserians of this horde of losers, which raged among the various Hardcore bands from '85/95, carrying around the legacy left by Iggy, Rob Tyner & Co. (Life of Crime) and that they never cared a damn about appearing...