In 1992, a friend organized an Unsane show at bar in New Jersey, but a blizzard began the night before and lasted until about noon that day, so attendance was sparse. At the time, I was into Jesus Lizard, Big Black, Helmet, Laughing Hyenas, and Swans, so I dodged drifts and got a place in front (not that there was much competition). As my feet thawed (I remember puddles of water), I was blown away by the volumes attained by these three NYC musicians: I lost track of individual songs, but the set was mostly culled from their 1991 Matador debut, the one with a decapitated guy bleeding across a train track.
Live, besides the sheer brutality, I was struck by the gnarly, distorted vocals of guitarist Chris Spencer and the chaotic, body-shot drums of Charles Ondras. (Sadly, later the same year, Ondras died of a drug overdose, and was replaced by former Foetus/Swans drummer Vincent Signorelli.) For me, that night was Unsane at its peak, but even after I stopped paying attention, the Lower East Side noise-rock trio kept going (and going).
In fact, the band's history is more extensive than one might guess: In 1992, Matador released a compilation of early singles and compilation tracks. In 1993, that label inked its infamous distribution deal with Atlantic, which found Unsane connected to a major label for album three, Total Destruction, produced by Martin Bisi. In 1995, the band signed to Amphetamine Reptile for Scattered, Smothered, and Covered and hooked into a tour with Slayer. After years of intense touring, Unsane released Occupational Hazard in 1998 on Relapse. That same year, Spencer was beaten close to death by four anti-American Viennese thugs while in Austria. He recovered, but the band called it quits in 2000.
Now, 13 years after I was introduced to their live rage, Unsane's in my apartment with a collection of new material, their first since Occupational Hazard. Spencer remains on vocals and guitar and Signorelli's still on drums. Original bassist, Peter Shore left in 1994 and his replacement, Dave Curran continues to provide the heavy, often nimble low-end.
Blood Run doesn't diverge from the Unsane salad days. Even the gory cover continues the tradition of packaging the work in hyper-saturated crime-scenes. "Blood Run" itself is a term Spencer gave for the band's quick moving photo shoots. Because they often occur in borrowed/public spaces, he and his associates set up the shot, pour the the blood, quickly depart wherever it is they're shooting (warehouse, etc.) before the cops come. The new, too-obviously staged pic isn't as creepy as the old stuff, but it does show a naked tattooed girl, i.e. linking it to the whole Suicide Girl thing. (Hey, it's one way to remain current.)
The production's crisper than the first two albums, but otherwise, the distorted vocals, drill-sergeant lyrics ("Can't break. Get straight. Too Late. Dead weight"), pummeling drums, bassy bass, and bluesy/sheet-rock guitars could've been recorded a decade ago. Think stripped-down Laughing Hyenas on "Got It Down" and "Recovery" or Helmet sans Branca name-drop just about anywhere else. There's little variation. Introductory movements or openings fall into different camps-- solo drums, solo guitar, solo bass-- but after that, each piece becomes the same sludgy formulation. Moments of difference: 1) Guest semi-metal guitar solos on "Hammered Out" and "Latch", and 2) A seven-minute closer, "Dead Weight", which introduces more drone and sustain than usual, but quickly falls into line, then ends with the sounds of a subway coming to a stop, perhaps crushing a head.
Blood Run offers a visceral kick in small doses. (Try one track and then leave the room for 15 minutes. Repeat.) The purist in me even kinda wants to extend a hand to the boys for sticking to a template so relentlessly. But come on, while Unsane hasn't lost a step, it hasn't gained anything either. And in the end, as in the beginning, the lack of a sneak-attack and attendant shock/awe spells death for a band whose relevance hinges on arriving like a 2 a.m., tooth-chipping sucker punch.
