When a two-year old flies into a fit of impotent, helpless rage, it can scream its head off. It doesn't even need to say anything or explain itself; it just lets fly. Most adults forget this surefire route to feeling better, but not Mike Anderson. As frontman for the Indiana noise-core band Racebannon, Anderson shrieks and gibbers almost unintelligibly, crumpling the words like fast food wrappers in a muck-clogged gutter. The listener hears it just as sound, but if you look up the lyrics in the liner notes, they're clear and succinct-- for example: "Yr ability to head face first into the dirt has taught you nothing but how to get lost in this open field of market and value. I've got heartburn. I can't pay my goddamn rent." Hey, I can relate to that. Can I scream too?
Anderson's vocal geekshow and the band's artsy leanings set Racebannon apart from your average angry hardcore band. They're a rock quartet that can rip through fast, high thrash. But while the songs usually start loud and spastic, most of them run long-- half are over eight minutes-- and the extended writing, the interesting use of sounds, and the effective cover of Captain Beefheart's "Electricity" suggest there's an art band behind the violent facade. Like the vocals, the guitars smear and spray as often as they make statements. The rhythm section plays solid hardcore but it can also play freeform, as with the scattered hi-hats on "I'm Yr Egomaniac." Racebannon also throw in effects, theremin, and on "Egomaniac," some kind of bells or chiming glass sound.
Fortunately, Racebannon never loses intensity no matter how long or complicated the music becomes. Even the shorter songs like "Flip n' Fuck" or "Fuck Yr Obvious Words" transition from screaming thrash to effect-stricken outros, but the opening sections are strong enough to keep the rest of the song from wandering. On the other hand, the best songs acquire an awesome magnitude as they ramble on. "Clubber Lang" kicks off with a great guitar riff and digs solidly into position behind Anderson's rant; as it jerks through the noises and gizmos of the ending, Anderson trails off into the distance. The most interesting song on the album, the closer "I'm Yr Egomaniac," builds dramatically with slow drones and the hi-hats and bell sounds mentioned above, while Anderson spits out an entire monologue.
Racebannon won't win over everybody. As the label "avant-noise-core" suggests, they tend to push themselves into a niche. Strict hardcore fans might balk at the long songs and instrumental sections, while people who don't dig hardcore at all will have trouble with the lack of melodies, hooks, or approachable beats. The recording is immaculate and surprisingly unabrasive, but it could stand to get messier. (It's also a little shy on the low-end.) You get the impression that the band is heavy, but not very heavy-- angry, but not aggressive. No matter how ferocious and ugly it sounds, the ugliness is happening to somebody else. But on those terms, it's a compelling and original album: there's a lot of appeal to kicking back and listening to these guys spill their troubles and frustrations. You don't even need to catch all the words.
