Turnstile
Nonstop Feeling

Know this, I was born in 1991. This album coming directly from Maryland, composed by guys I think are around my age, is called "Nonstop Feeling" and it was released this year, but, let me tell you, it sounds terribly '90s. The "terribly" is meant in that nostalgic way that can make fans of the old school happy. The nostalgia operation blends wonderfully with Turnstile. I don’t know why, since I'm usually quite resistant to derivative sounds, but this time it seems like the exception that doesn't confirm the rule. Everything might sound very canonical, yet everything is so fun in here. There’s a melting pot of musical influences bubbling directly from the era of the colorful NBA uniforms of the Houston Rockets, from cathode-ray tube TVs, from wearing pants three sizes too big; there's a mood that makes you sail in the waters from twenty years ago. In "Nonstop Feeling", there is hardcore, but the simple, fundamental kind. No imaginative complexities, no tear-jerking melodies, there’s that simple, dry, and decisive riff. In short, the kind from New York school and the Lower East Side, to be clear. I could say Warzone, or even Cro-Mags, or Judge. Pick as you please as if you were playing the New Year’s lottery. Let’s return to the (not) interesting autobiographical reference of the review. Before plunging into the world of Modern Life Is War and the like, I couldn’t go a day without listening to Agnostic Front or Madball. You’d see Roger Miret there on stage and get excited at the first notes struck by Stigma. I can’t deny, then, that when I hear the simplicity take off in "Fazed Out" I go back to being an eighteen-year-old in the making and start headbanging. "Nonstop Feeling" is this and damn, how it...relaxes me? Yes, it is an hardcore album that soothes my nerves.

Turnstile also knows how to surprise you because, in the end, the stylistic choice is not all that trivial. No sooner do you start enjoying the chaos than Brendan Yates (former drummer of Trapped Under Ice) comes into your neurons to sing with a voice that imparts the appropriate uniqueness to the attitude that the Baltimore crew wants to convey. No, there’s no rasp. No, there’s no coarse and hoarse shout. There’s a carefree clean and you know what it reminds me of? That mammasantissima from Venice Beach with the socks pulled up and the Dodgers jersey. I’m speaking of Mike Muir. The vocal influence from Suicidal Tendencies doesn’t stop at rendering the lyrics as if you were completely relaxed by the beach enjoying graffiti, skaters, and surfers (by the way, here you’ll find small glimpses of surf punk). In "Nonstop Feeling" the singing at times isn’t really singing; it’s more of a rap. Hold on, keyboard warriors, don’t start invoking the Punic Wars in the name of your sanctity hardcore punk fundamentalism. Turnstile have flow, they have a rhythm that instantly imprints itself in your head because between slang and measured rhythms, it’s undeniable that the Baltimore group knows their stuff. They aren't novices trying to copy and paste; these guys grew up on a diet of Biohazard or Beastie Boys—again, take your pick. They studied them well and said to themselves, well, why not integrate them into our offering? Said and done. The final result of the recipe is a bomb that detonates in no time. The guitars aren’t so metal-influenced and stay on shores that love to devour themselves between slowdowns and breakdowns: the most classic of fatal combos. Oh, and if they want, they even speed up, and those dangling riffs give a nod to the world of crossover thrash. Turnstile balance themselves as skilled equilibrists even among melodies with pop overtones and throw in instrumental interludes reminiscent of skit tracks from the hip-hop/rap world. When they unleash the screams, these are bright and luminous, releasing all the stress channeled between a pulsating bass and a martial drum. The order of the day is two: groove and mosh.

Finally, Father, the time comes for confessions. I must say, indeed, that I didn’t approach this album with great expectations. You know what I tell you? The best thing I could have done because I reevaluated it listen after listen, and now I can’t do without it. "Nonstop Feeling" races away like a rocket, flows without obstacles along the road, plays its cards well, and you can feel the late eighties and '90s influence isn’t just borrowed from a photocopier but inspired. Inspiration is everything if you manage to insert into the tracklist even a sample of "Bad Boy" by the Jive Bombers. Adrenaline flows like rivers, it doesn’t want or manage to stop, it drags, ignites, destroys, without Turnstile overdoing it. The lyrics, too, aren’t even trivial and nonsensical. Instead, give them a read. Meanwhile, they genuinely draw neck-breaking patterns and have fun, because yes, in the end, that’s what remains inside of me from "Nonstop Feeling". A cohesive work in which there is fun. So, trust me, enough with the long faces, enough with introspective journeys and dramatic situations. Yes, to Valsoia. No, sorry, yes to good old galloping rickety hardcore.