No wonder there’s a recession.

All this seems to have no impact on Bring Me The Horizon though and their shiny new album with one of the longest (and most ridiculous) titles in recent memory. It would be expected that given the economic downturn that luxuries such as artwork, budget for music videos but above all recording with a top producer would be among the first casualties of financial scrutiny. No such chance here, this album sounds massive, with each detail nipped, tucked and honed to absolute perfection, poising it to launch the band towards the echelons of mega-stardom.

The figures and media hype already back this up as the album has charted well in the UK, US and Australia, on top of this the sheer level of hysteria surrounding them hints that the master plan to take over the world is coming to fruition. Even if the rest of the world’s sane population refutes this it seems that the ascent of their profile is unstoppable. Furthermore, the band are so acutely aware of what moves to make but most importantly, on how to shape the perceptions and tastes of their fan base, mainstream metal press and the stragglers who are still undecided whether they like them or not (but are leaning towards to them), that they could in theory release anything, as long as their logo was emblazoned all over it.

Case in point, the plundering from The Red Chord, At The Gates, Suicide Silence, Aborted and The Black Dahlia Murder as well as all the bands on Trustkill & Ferret that ever wrote a breakdown, to formulate their early work have been marginalized considerably on this album. There is no Swedish gallop, nor dual shrieked/guttural vocal interplay nor a cast iron arsenal of breakdowns (this is the one element though that is not altogether eradicated). After all, trying to out-breakdown Suicide Silence and out-metal The Black Dahlia Murder was so 2006/07. This season it’s all about ripping Misery Signals, Shai Hulud, Metallica (BMTH’s bloated sense of grandeur as there is a strong feeling that they view this album as their Master of Puppets), Everytime I Die and more.

Launched by the six minute plus “Crucify Me,” it’s overt that BMTH intend to not only make the transition to mega-stardom, but to remain there. The track is lead by a delicate, shimmering riff that gently tugs and fades repetitively, emphasising the lush production and generating an epic setting, one that’s destined to fill stadiums worldwide. When listening objectively, the first thing that comes to mind is that they have been studying, worshiping and then logically pilfering (they wouldn’t be the first) Master of Puppets, as this sounds like its intended to be their “Battery.”

The intro, like that in “Battery,” lingers briefly before bursting into one of the first frantic gallops of the album, but whereas the Metallica classic was formed around sublime riffing and duelling, there is nothing of the sort here. What’s played, are not really riffs as such but a mingled mash of several duelling melodies that clash, contort and then repeat throughout the verses under Sykes anaemic yelping (he now sounds like a less gravelly Keith Buckley from Everytime I Die).

The sound is a fusion of diluted, less powerful Botch styled scrapes and are dressed with cascading melodies that could equally be pulled from either Misery Signals or Shai Hulud but having neither the grace nor grandeur of those metalcore greats. There’s just simply no bite, no power to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention, it’s synthetic, vacuous, they chug on insignificantly leaving no real impression.

That alone is not really grounds to write off an album so early into its playtime, but what follows are a series of insane song writing choices that plague and ultimately ruin the album. Exhibit one, around minute two of “Crucify Me,” some of the most annoying female vocals ever aloofly saunter in and stop everything else, dead. They mumble drearily the album title with a sulky childish twang, over and over. Frankly, they sound horrible, and regrettably don’t disappear, they hang around annoyingly until the track’s conclusion.

Now I have nothing against female vocals, in fact, done right, they are supremely powerful, but their utilisation here is awful. The tone is wrong, there is no weight or richness in her voice but that’s nothing in comparison to the delivery, because it’s shockingly dire. The intent is to sound ethereal and haunting but rather comes out as an eight year old reading badly from a hymn sheet, and in the context of the track it makes no sense at all!

That’s not the end of it though. To make matters worse, later on in the track the female vocals are distorted, mangled and transformed into a dance beat/rhythm that sounds like it should be on a trance compilation. It’s a truly bizarre decision, but above anything else, it violently churns my gut, and makes me wonder if I am just getting old and don’t understand music anymore, or, if my instinct is right and that this album is nothing but a waste of time.

As if to apologize for this musical heresy, there are plenty of beefy gang vocals throughout to offset and maybe even displace the memory and presence of the female vocals. Despite this, there’s another problem, although the lyrics are different (“Pray for the dead,”) the rhythm and flow sounds almost exactly like those in Comeback Kid’s “Wake The Dead,” it could be coincidence, or it could be they hoped that no one would notice if they slipped that in.

From then on, the mess rolls forward. Be it more Misery Signals/Shai Hulud worship and dilution in the tracks that immediately follow the opener, namely “Anthem,” and “It Never Ends,” or yet more insane song writing choices as on “Don’t Go.” To be fair, “Don’t Go,” does start promisingly, with mournful My Dying Bride styled atmospherics beginning the track, but then this is quashed when Sykes begins yelping again and then as if to raise the middle finger even more defiantly, the female vocalist from “Crucify Me,” makes a return to mumble more nonsense.

As much as they infuriate and frustrate me, I do want to like and support BMTH, but they just seem to manage every single time to prevent me from doing so. Most annoying is that it’s clear that BMTH love music (although Oli Sykes openly professing a love for Linkin Park has me thinking otherwise), that they want to push their own forward and write something that reflects their obvious natural talent, but now, after three albums it seems that the older they get, the harder it is for me to have time for them, but most importantly, connect with them.

Anyway, enough fan boy babbling, let’s get onto Axe to Fall. Converge are still exploring the darkened, skewered path that they set upon from Jane Doe and if anything, they are getting bitterer and more twisted and even more harrowing then on their former efforts. As with the records since Jane Doe, and mirroring closely “No Heroes,” the opening compositions come thick and most importantly, fast, hacking and slashing with deadly speed and precision, but this time, they take a sizable chunk out of your ear before they have concluded.

“Dark Horse,” amalgamates so many elements, it’s equally crusty, yet simultaneously it melds beautifully gleaming metallic crunches, Jake’s wounded howl and his vicious scream. “Reap What You Sow,” continues the chaos, but focuses more on dancing stuttering riffs, similar to those found on “Thaw,” on Jane Doe. They dance and poke with resolute fury before giving way to a ripping solo and barrage of double bass. The title track keeps the blood pressure pumping, with riffs skipping up and down the scales, and coalescing into crushing segues that pound and pound and pound, seriously Mr Koller, what are you on? It concludes with a scything, and of course crushing, blackened, crusted riff, ducking and diving with faultless poise and precision.

This bloodbath concludes with another grinder in the form of “Effigy,” which seems redeemed co-conspirators Steve Brodsky and Adam McGrath bringing the noise again like it was 1998. Up next is one of the album highlights, “Worms will feed,” a gargling, damaged and utterly addictive sludge monster that crawls insidiously, mingling in glassy, prickly riffs amongst the demented sludge.

Of all the collaborators on Axe to Fall, the one that perked my interest the most was the one with Mr Von Till from those Oakland Monoliths Neurosis (just in case you didn’t know). The piece “Cruel Bloom,” is decidedly delicious, reminding that Converge aren’t afraid to tread the damaged folk path as they did with “In Her Shadow,” from You Fail Me. Von Till is equally soothing as he is raging, cracking out his fierce bellow smoothly from his coy croon, musically, it’s equally impressive, with the doomy riffs lurking with insipid menace colliding sumptuously with dreamy, ethereal strumming, it’s a massive, brave and above all, beautiful track.

I could go on about the numerous highlights through the album beyond those listed here, but that would be spoil the surprises and other shocks contained within, just get this and revel in its evil, evil genius.

While the much maligned metalcore genre gets its share of hate, when performed at a top notch level, I find it thoroughly enjoyable and such is the case with Horizons. Imagine if Killswitch Engage were a bit more brutal and didn’t have whole verse/chorus/verse, clean vocals going on, and you get some idea of Parkway Drive’s well honed and forceful delivery of metalcore.

Sure, it’s nothing new, but it is impeccably well done for the genre and full of moments that define the style. The Adam D (KSE) production is stout and the songs are full of galloping, melodic riffs and ample but not overdone breakdowns. There’s nothing remotely groundbreaking, there’s an acoustic intro, (“Begin”), various moments of still gruff but melodic and hardly over wrought harmonies (“Carrion”, “Five Months”, “Idols and Anchors”, “Frostbite”) and some solemn acoustics to start and end the dramatic album closing title track, but they are balanced by songs that shred and snarl with a confidence and knowledge of the genre that many bands could learn from.

Tracks like “The Siren’s Song”, “Feed Them to the Pigs”, “Boneyards”, “Breaking Point” and “Dead Man’s Chest” are steely tough, dual licked numbers that highlight metalcore’s overlooked harsher side, but still manage to register on your memory with a stern catchiness

Most will turn their nose up at Horizons as an example of a genre that just needs to die, but metalcore fans will appreciate this for what it is; a damn fine example of the genre and a release that shows it can be done very well.

Ten albums and over 15 years of rage, Agnostic Front have outlasted many of their NYHC contemporaries ‘ even though their last “great” album was 1992’s One Voice,  the band have returned with their most throwback hardcore punk effort since Liberty and Justice. Agnostic Front’s last two albums were good, but were interchangeable as far as the quality of the songs; they seemed to lack the unique sense of rebellious power that permeated their earlier efforts. Dead Yuppies sees a true return to thespeedy 3-chord power riff glory of Victim In Pain. Sporting a classic black cover and bold white labeling, this album reeks of old school. Even the crowd shot on the back is a nod to prior victories. The raw production sounds 10 years old, not the polished metalcore-ish sound they had started leaning to.

Fifteen songs, 30 minutes, spiteful outspoken lyrics, chanted choruses and those super simple yet oh-so-catchy riffs is true NYHC at its best. The songs on Dead Yuppies drip with energetic, tattooed anger. Second song “Out of Reach” brings “Power” to mind and rips along with timeless abandon, which then seamlessly changes into “Everybody’s A Critic,” another rage-filled minute of “Fuck You” street tough attitude. The song easily throws off the Roadrunner-era throes of commercialization. “Urban Decadence” is the kind of sweaty mosh pit rousing anthem that just begs for a live audience and a live album.

The core of Agnostic Front, vocalist Roger Miret and guitarist Vinnie Stigma, ensure that the album retains its old school feel throughout. Miret even sounds 10 years younger, and Stigma’s solos are still thankfully rare and chaotic. As ever, Agnostic Front’s lyrics range from personal vendettas, political tirades, and chest-pounding self-proclamation. They’re all delivered with Miret’s trademark scowling throat. 

Another area that emphasizes the ‘Front’s return to glory are the breakdowns.”Rather than the crisp, crunchy metallic groove of Sick Of It All, Agnostic Front’s slower moments are rawer heartfelt expressions of anger or pride. And its a thing of nostalgic beauty.”Alright’s” rousing ending is a prime example of how Agnostic Front have regressed, which is certainly more beneficial than detrimental. 

At its heart, Dead Yuppies is far more abrasive punk than metal; it has a lot more residual elements from the band’s past, and could possibly revive a genre thought long dead outside New York. You could consider this a comeback album as it sounds so wonderfully dated, but the beaten down charm of this style is that it always sounds good, especially when done with the kind of conviction on display here.

This might be Agnostic Front’s strongest effort in a decade, and further proves that the New Yorkers are true to the scene-today, tomorrow and forever.