Emotions and the ability to act on said emotions, feelings or thoughts is one of the core components of our DNA that differentiates humans from almost all other forms of life that we share this beautiful world with. That’s not to say that I think that we’re more important than say a nettle, a goat or a bumble bee, all of these things, and more, are part of life’s rich tapestry and the circle of life that means life continues to propagate and continue, despite the best efforts of humankind to wipe itself off the face of the earth with its never ending quest to conquer, destroy and prove itself right over someone else. But still, it’s emotion that drives our day to day and for Hull, UK based sludge/power violence band Mastiff, this their four full length effort, has been smelted, conceived, vacuum packed, birthed and alchemised in the fires of personal loss, tragedy, and pain. Despite what you may think, art that is contrived and created from adversity and its prevailing winds of despair and anger, are often the most striking and arguably better than those that aren’t, just ask Van Gogh, Mark Rothko, Nick Drake, Mozart et al. But before you dive into the pile named dog, I’m certainly not equating this album alongside the pantheons of the great and the good of art, but Jiminy Cricket, this is dense, dark, fetid and bone shakingly beautiful music that takes an axe to your ankle and starts hacking immediately.
There are obvious and lazy genre touchpoints here for which the compromised writer in me can lean up against, take a swig of tea and devour a Penguin (the chocolate biscuit and not the bird). The fact that this album features guest appearances from Primitive Man’s Ethan Lee McCarthy (last seen destroying a sold-out show supporting Napalm Death in Brixton) should be a clear indicator of the type of waters we are flailing around in. But wait, there are also plenty of grindcore elements to the band’s sound, as blast beats rain down like seagull shit on Newquay Beach, before segueing into more D-Beat/Entombed rifferama before settling back into a more sombre tempo, as the vocals veer from guttural pronouncements to phlegm filled, back of the throat screamo and that’s just on the track ‘Serrated’. The band have clearly thrown the kitchen sink, the chaise longue and the downstairs toilet into this album and the genre coverage is as wide as the smile on the face of a Tory bastard’s face as he conflates misspending taxpayers’ money with doing a good. But G.C.S.E politics aside, Mastiff have created an album that hedges its bets as it straddles several genres, showcasing the band’s ability to pivot on a sixpence mid song.
It’s often the case when several genres are at play within the tight environs of an album, that the band run the risk of trying to please everyone but rather it ends up sounded confused and unsure of itself. But, on Deprecipice, the band have just about got themselves and their songs under manners, and the variance in tempo, colour, and flavour of each of the songs on this album make for an enjoyable listen as it veers from say Nails, to Entombed, via Tuskar and Crowbar. Despite being, on the face of it, schizophrenic (in broad terms) in nature, this is a very decent album, that will have you banging your head, tapping your foot, swinging your hips, and diving into the pit. It covers a lot of ground from a musicality perspective, and it must be said is wrapped up in a cloak made of ermine in terms of its production which is warm, comforting and in your face like a bouncer from Stoke’s TTL Nightclub, after you’ve been sick on the dancefloor whilst skanking to Shabba Ranks. In summary, this is a dense, enjoyable, energetic, considered and machine tooled to precision collection of songs that are very healthy indication of what good health the UK metal scene is currently in.
(7.5/10 Nick Griffiths)
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