When the press release accompanying the debut seven-inch from some completely unknown four-piece cites the likes of Botch and Red Sparowes as stylistic touch stones, it’s impossible for the self-respecting rock critic to turn a blind eye slash deaf ear. So, already full of cynicism, I gently lower the needle.
Sometimes it’s right to be cynical.
Montana are Midlanders capable of making a fair old racket and no mistake. Sadly for everyone else, they scream their way through these three songs with scant regard for both originality and quality control. This is hardcore at its absolute bottom rung, metal stripped of even the most mediocre of riffs – it’s rock music to which nobody could roll, let alone even nod a semi-appreciative skull to. Lyrics are so indecipherable it’s impossible to tell if they’re more imaginative than the music around them. You’d hope so, so recycled are the compositional ideas on display.
“Goes off like a firework in your face,” one neatly plucked quote from elsewhere attests positively, but I ask you: have you ever had a firework go off in your face? It’s not a good thing, having delicate flesh irreparably disfigured by a rogue rocket. It’s fucking horrible.
A firework in your face, then? Strangely, such a statement seems like an entirely appropriate description of this creative flat-liner of a seven-inch. Once a little reality’s been established, of course.
3Mike Diver's Score