Night Terror
Non t'arrabbiare

THE REVIEW

At the launch of the hardcore punk and anti-war scene, Night Terror crash through like an urban warrior, nothing of an android about them—except for the metallic armor forged in a brisk, hard-hitting sound. It's a rain of spears reminiscent of the lethal choreography in Hero, that duality where martial precision collides with street dust and sonic writing becomes a calligraphic wound.

In this debut, the coordinates of Hüsker Dü serve as a targeting system. Non t’arrabbiare transforms the board game into a philosophical provocation. It's the noise made by those who have decided to kick away the pieces before being devoured by the system. The trio from La Spezia doesn’t ask permission; they take up space with the force of a hardcore urgency, in trench-line with the band's personal histories.

The bass of Massimiliano Bertagna (Fall Out and King Mastino) darts with a nervous agility that directs the movement of a war dance. The voice of Riccardo Motosi (Manges) bends the sonic dynamism into a hoarse and stubborn flow. And the drums of Stefano Giannotti (Satanic Youth) unleash bursts that grant no respite to your lungs.

The hardcore progression is a breakneck descent. You rush from the sarcastic opener "Consolation Prize", to the inner conflicts of "Private War", and the apocalyptic tones of "There Will Be Blood". Night Terror depict a "World Upside Down" where all the compasses have gone mad. The frontal invective explodes in "It’s All Your Mother’s Fault", where the band overwhelms the delusions of omnipotence of the new masters of the world, while in "A Taste Of Evil" they uncover the short-circuit of our screens. The lucid bewilderment of "Language Adrift" finally tunes us in to the brutal indifference of nature.

It closes with the self-titled track, "Non t’arrabbiare", an acoustic version that isn’t a surrender of the hardcore vision, but the hypnotic loop of a warrior catching his breath before unleashing the final anti-war, anti-system electric slap. The ultimate character is purely Nietzschean; these three veterans have stared too long into the abyss, and the abyss has answered back with a guitar riff decreeing zero hour. The one that marks the end of the line for humanity, though accompanied by a brilliant laugh in the background. Whatever happens, Non t’arrabbiare.