I’m not sure that NORMANS‘ self-titled album can be described by one genre. Post-punk? Yes. Noise rock? Sure. Gothic? At times. Intriguing? Definitely.
Lead singer (and bassist) Matthew Reid comes out swinging, and screaming, on “John Hockey,” while drummer Michael Rudes hits his kit so hard that it sounds like he was pissed about being stuck in traffic for an hour on the way to the studio. The guitars, from Kyle Souza and Collin Fish are all over the place, causing absolute chaos the whole time. In other words, they picked a perfect track to open the record.
“Shut Up I’m Shopping” is a great, angry slap at consumerism and the rat race. “Murder Rich” changes gears and drops you into dance-punk while Reid claims, “You’re a secondhand son of a bitch. You’re a car going over a cliff.” to let you know he’s not impressed with your wealth and knows your pursuit of it will only end in misery.
The drums and bass on “Anti-Crusoe” switch it up again, now taking us into Wall of Voodoo-like desert rock as Reid sings about forever being a wanderer (“I’m a beast without no home. I hate everything…So go on and touch me.”). “Firepower” is, interestingly, a bit low key compared to other tracks, although still loud and wild, preferring to subtly work in the back of your brain for most of it.
“Dead Snakes” gets a bit trippy with added vocal effects (mostly echoes) and the guitars sounding like they were recorded in an empty swimming pool on a space station. “Healing an Eyesore” is downright frightening, with Reid’s vocals sounding the most frantic on the whole album.
“Schloss Loss” adds a little krautrock to the mix, thumping with deep synth bass to nudge / shove you to the dance floor. “Bending the Branch” is great dance-punk with its strange guitar riffs, relentless bass, and frenzied drumming. Closing with “Fury on the Island,” NORMANS just go nuts for the finish. Souza and Fish sound like they’re using claw hammers on their guitars, Reid’s bass stomps around like an angry sumo wrestler, and you can practically feel Rudes’ sweat hitting your face as he wails on his kit.
It’s a wild record that will almost leave you breathless. Keep your eyes on these guys. They’re dangerous.
Keep your mind open.
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