Don't be frightened by the violent fucking and fascism on The Plot's second LP, Love in the Fascist Brothel. These guys are Huck Finns dropping the n-word before they're neo-Nazis pushing an F&F; agenda. They're four San Diego Dada-dudes with trad hardcore beefs-- macho guys, stupid girls, and authority figures-- and when singer Brandon Welchez shrieks, "We French-kissed in a holding cell and licked our flames in birthday Hell," he's only describing love using the terms of the twisted metalcore realm he dwells in.
The Plot deftly navigate through jazz, punk, and metal with pinpoint precision, willfully mangling their songs while still retaining a sense of structure. Opener "Reichstag Rock" collapses from Tourette's before a steady, colossal metal riff restores order and brings the song home. Midway through "Lipstick SS", everyone forgets how to play their instruments for almost a minute when suddenly the band stumbles across a dance-punk groove.
The energy's huge, but the Plot's key strength is guitar melodies. "Vulture Kontrol" churns on a cheeky bassline until it's interrupted by-- am I about to say this?-- a nasty riff reminiscent of Castlevania 3 for NES. Before the song unwinds into a collage of piano pounding, "Angry, Young, and Rich" packs plenty of guitar arpeggios and a staccato, drama-charged pre-chorus.
Complaining about unintelligible hardcore vocals is a lost cause, but it's a shame here: lines like "You want a reaper that's handsome and abusive," believe it or not, would add a lot more personality to the Plot's already proactive songs. Then again, maybe Welchez intended to conceal lines like "Kisses sweet as heroin yet cold like teenage sex" because he thought the metaphor was too sappy. Whatever the reason, Welchez's lack of clarity only increases the role of the other members, which is perfectly fine. On "Failure on Vain Street", the derisive guitar parody of "Pomp and Circumstance" and tongue-in-cheek cowbells manage to convey the same fuck-the-system attitude of Welchez's garbled voice: "Nail any uniform coffin black/ Want my hair as short as nails/ March, march, march." With personification like this, it won't be long before the FCC starts handing out "Warning: Explicit Instruments" stickers and kids can't buy a saxophone without showing some ID.
