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I was
initially listening to this blistering piece of vinyl
with the needle set to 33. What got me the most wasn’t
the dragged and incredible thickness of the music, but
the totally guttural distortion of the vocals. The
music was absurdly chunky and noisy, the riffs sounded
like they were breaking down and the mix was so muddy I
was about to reach for some Q-tips. The doom influence
was vast and by large what informed the record the
most. Which surprised me because I knew that Murder
Practice was a hardcore band and this didn’t sound
anything like it. But I was digging Prophecy of Doom
a great deal. I have an idea, someone should buy this
record, listen to it on 33 revolutions and start making
music based on that. Believe me, more than a few fools,
just
like yours truly, would kill for that stuff.
But the vocals
proved to be too unreal. Like those of a screaming monster set
to slow motion, this just didn’t make sense. I was tipped by
experience, I guess. When I set this twelve-inch piece of vinyl
to 45 rpm’s Murder Practice came into its own. Certainly,
Prophecy of Doom now sounds like hardcore. Not like the
dumbass bull-headed, steroid-fed, meathead New York ilk of
hardcore, but like a gnarlier beast by no chance sporting a
basketball t-shirt and listening to Biohazard.
One aspect of
their proposition that separates Murder Practice from the rest
is the vocals of Jake. The dude has more of a PCP-crazed edge
than that of muscle-headed vocalist with an obsession for the
windmill. His delivery has an aggressive bite, but it sure is
one sided and a bit monotonous. More dynamic is the music. This
Cali quintet at times sounds a bit crusty, especially in their
most straight forward moments. On others though, without shying
away from being melodic (solos are not rare) Murder Practice
ventures into more modern structures. Speed and rhythms are
constantly being broken and yeah, there are few moments of
chugga-chugga bliss. This shit’s better though. Let’s just say I
wouldn’t be afraid of standing right next to these dudes for the
fearing of getting beaten up.
MySpace
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