Crusty Love

I once worked with a Crust Punk. He always seemed to be suffering from some sort of phlegmatic malaise, which was undoubtedly attributable, at least in part, to his wretched personal hygiene. Then suddenly he's not at work for a couple days, then a week, and people start to ask, "where's that crusty guy?" Well, it turns out he'd contracted Legionnaire's disease! Punk fucking rock!

Legionnaire's Disease in Action

I'm not sure if my crusty former co-worker lived the whole squatting, train-hopping lifestyle, but all outside appearances indicated that he either had in the past or soon intended to. Like the group of transient Crusties who camped out on a corner adjacent to a liquor store where I once worked, fresh off the boxcar from Portland or Olympia or some other dreary NorthWestern heroin town, looking to, I don't know, stop war by getting drunk on malt liquor. I didn't really have any objection to their presence, or their putrid dog that was always getting up in my junk; it didn't even bother me that they asked for change every single time I walked by, even though they knew I knew they were going to take my money to my liquor store and buy some more Steel Reserve to drink at a filthy squat. One of the girls in the crew had her entire nose tattooed green.

I suppose I'd lived sort of a Crust lifestyle in the past, but with no acknowledgement of the music or the politics or the veganism. And instead of living on the streets and partying till I puked blood every night, I was attending an infamous art college and partying till I puked blood every night. I did play in an offensively named punk rock band, though, and I was all aboard with the minimalistic hygiene practices. But I got older, and the acne became unmanageable.

Don't get me wrong; I'm glad these people, these "crusty" people, exist. If only I'd been turned on to Amebix when I was 18 instead of 28, things may have turned out differently. I could have contracted Legionnaire's disease, gotten my nose tattooed, and rocked my teets off to countless face-smashing bands nation-and-world-wide. Instead, I followed the twin lures of the warehousing industry and crippling social anxiety.

So where is this all leading, you ask? Well, in my investigation of the crust phenomenon, I came across some recordings that have fulfilled some primal music-nerd cravings deep within, and I have to make sure the whole world hears my opinion and agrees with me.

Now a disclaimer: I'm not an expert on Crust music, so I'm not going to pretend that these records are representative of the genre as a whole (or at all). They're just a few that I have been fortunate enough to stumble across in my blind bumbling spelunk thru the caves of madness.

Salpetriere - L'etre / Le Neant
These gentlemen and one lady are Russian, and I know almost nothing about them except that they're fantastic. They brood, they build, they thrash, they explode! The Muscovites call it emo, probably due to the lyrics, because musically this isn't in the same time zone as the emo we know here in AmeriKKKa. I suppose in Russia including melodic passages and memorable hooks in a hardcore/crust context means you're a pussy. This too-brief 7" is a masterpiece of mid-fi production, five nearly perfect rainy-day hardcore anthems to glare menacingly at strangers to. The members of this band are also members of many other bands of varying repute among the young cheloveks. Buy it, it's cheap!

e123 - demo

From Kirov, Russia. Two vocalists: low growler, high screamer; the Cookie Monster/Skeletor pairing so prevalent in extreme metal. Punishing instrumental attack and more Russian lyrics that I don't understand. But man, these fellas can stop on a dime and kick out a killer groove when properly motivated. I wasn't really a fan of this type of music until I heard these guys. An added bonus appears between a couple of songs in the form of some sampled movie dialogue (e.g. Apocalypse Now, Fight Club) in the background followed by what I imagine is translation into the Russian by a band member or well-wisher. They encourage you to download it for free, and I recommend you fucking pay heed.

Alpinist - Minus.Mensch

My favorite type of cheese is muenster, and Alpinist is from Munster, Germany. So already by association Alpinist is destined to become my favorite post-dark-hardcore-crust band from Germany. This record sounds fantastic, friends, an immaculately recorded, churning stew of blastbeats, pick dives, harrowing vocals, with plenty of breakdowns perfect for picking up change. I don't have enough of a frame of reference to compare it to anything, but I'd shoot it out there that they sound kind of like the better tracks in Converge's early repertoire. Because, you know, I once owned a Converge album, as anyone who lived next to me sophomore year in college could tell you. I don't listen to Converge anymore, but I do listen to Alpinist, like, a lot. Just go to their myspace page and see for yourself.

Death Dust Extractor - Slay Your Masters Or Slave In Chains

Holy shit from Japan! More frenetic mayhem for people who like Lip Cream and amplified vacuum cleaners, guaranteed to alienate your square neighbors. 9 speedy, spiky, all-conquering tracks in under 15 skuzzy no-fi minutes. I don't have to say anymore about this, other than it's fucking awesome and you need it, now.

Maybe there will be part 2 sometime.

—mk