No Idols - Low (Swing the Pyramid Hands) CD Review

This review, as short as it may be, took an inordinate amount of time to write. Chalk that up to a couple of different reasons. The first might be a slight case of wanting-to-be-a-witty-writer’s block, but we’ll let that one slide past for now. Second, this cd clocks in at only a little under 23 minutes for its 11 tracks, leaving less material than is desirable to be able to work with. Third, these guys are really difficult to nail down when attempting to define their sound.

Throughout Low (Swing the Pyramid Hands) you’ll be scratching your head wondering who put some grindcore in with your hardcore, thought about jumping into some metalcore, and then left you with a sprinkling of noisecore. Beyond that, there’s really not any other way to accurately describe No Idols within the confines of the written word without leaving something out (and, yes, the above description itself easily leaves something out, but it’s what you get, so deal).

Vocally, think of Snapcase’s staccato style, but growled out from the depths of the loudest, angriest metal vocalist you can conjure in your mind’s eye… or ear, I suppose. There is absolutely no melody to be found here - raw aggression only. Then there’s the energy that you feel washing over you as each song is coursing through your auditory system. Somehow the evil offspring of Fear Before the March of Flames and The Chariot grew up, died a tragic death, wandered the earth in search of a proper home, and eventually after years of listless drifting from band to band found a home within the band No Idols.

Throughout this entire amazing, swirling, lovely nightmare of sound there is something that will gnaw at you… reaching into your bowels and making them quiver oh so gently. It is, in fact, the distortion drenched venom exuded by the members of the band playing their devious brand of angry music in unison. They’re not doing this to look tough or to sound loud or to be the next heavy somethingcore band. No, they’re doing this to rip you apart from the inside out.

So be prepared to potentially thunder-dump in your pants, vomit up your last three meals, and kidney punch your dog in a fit of spontaneous rage before you venture into this disc’s depths. They aren’t some wannabe band and, in fact, the title of one of their songs says it best. This is the “Eye of the Shitstorm” and the only way out is through the violence surrounding you, all 23 minutes of it.