Propagandhi
Supporting Caste

Suspended between progressive, thrash, and trash, Propagandhi once again capture the disillusioned rage of those who have nothing left to lose. And, overlooking thinly veiled hypocrisies, they do it excellently. What an album, kids. Splattercore that pisses turpentine on the whitewashed sepulchers of the third millennium. Enough of pseudo-NOFX pollutions like "Less Talk, More Rock." Now, there's no more joking around.

The anguished lullaby of "Night Letters" is a sound tear that tries to smother the silence of scorched earth, shouting its devotion to Sacrifice at the top of its lungs (but nobody complains). Todd Kowalski's scathing vocals (monotonous, but effective), however, don’t last long. Soon, they'll dissolve into the sublime fatalism of "Supporting Caste," a thrash elegy that mesmerizes and dazes, nestling quietly in the reverberations of the bridge only to erupt acutely. Crooked and moved, these Propagandhi, perpetually evading focus, the easy seduction of a catchy chorus. A stream of consciousness, as it comes, a testament immediately showcased by the supreme lyricist Chris Hannah (if only we had more like him!), who even manages to make vegans tolerable for you ("Humane Meat: the Flensing of Sandor Katz"), somewhere between early Strung Out and "Hit the Lights" ("The Funeral Procession"). All orchestrated by the syncopated grooves of guru Samolesky, whose manifesto is "Without Love," tears of blood filtered through the emotional spectrum of that "Celebrated Summer" that gave meaning to the '90s (and to Soul Asylum). The death of a kitten breeds monsters. And creates masterpieces. Everything else is dispensable boredom, idle ornament that hastens the escape from the will-o'-the-wisps of Potemkin, whispered by a Chris Hannah never so inspired. Papier-mâché hypocrisies that prevent us from seeing the stars again, from dreaming of frenetic headbanging cradled by the icy beauty of the aurora borealis.

God bless Propagandhi.

P.S.: Todd K. on bass kicks ass.