From Our Cold, Dead Hands

Listening to the second full-length (if that term applies to a disc that packs 20 songs into 24:59) from Swedish grindcore act Infanticide is like standing in the middle of a hurricane in a gravel pit -- it's somewhat unpredictable, and it hurts a whole lot. The stylistic parameters that existing fans know to associate with the term "Swedish grindcore" are definitely present -- the bass is a thick, distorted rumble; the drums offer more of a D-beat/crust-punk swing than a death metal avalanche; the guitars are downtuned and just as distorted as the bass; and the vocals are a hoarse, furious roar. But Infanticide throw just enough surprises at the listener, like opening with the longest track (a marathon at 2:23) and making the first half of that song a slow-burning, doomy instrumental, to vault them out of the pack of Nasum and Regurgitate clones. They demonstrate some compositional imagination, too, blasting through riffs that wouldn't sound out of place on a Prong album. The lyrics are the usual grindcore blend of political rage and general nihilism, with a dash of black humor showing up in song titles like "A Worse Today" (as opposed to a better tomorrow, one assumes) and "Shitfaced and Armed to the Teeth." The album cover, depicting a gas mask-wearing homeless person with a shopping cart full of assault weapons, is another good joke, one that recalls early-'80s hardcore's collage aesthetic. This isn't the most innovative album of 2010, but it's a fun listen.