By Justin M.Norton
We’ve had metal bands named Deicide, Genocide, Regicide and Herbicide (for real, they recorded a demo in 1987 that probably didn’t get out of their neighborhood). Some single-minded perv probably has a bedroom grind band named Spermicide. Perhaps it’s inevitable that we would end up with the somewhat distastefully named Infanticide, yet another Swedish band imported by Willowtip Records.
Fortunately, their Scott Hull-produced debut doesn’t traffic in grotesque songs that are the equivalent of dead baby jokes set to stale death metal riffs and pedestrian drumming. It’s more like a potent combination of the misanthropy of Weekend Nachos with the anarchist impulses of Leftover Crack. “Domestic Warfare” opens with a fuzzy garage rock bass riff that’s a sleight of hand before they stomp your ears into pulps. The songs are efficient uppercuts; the knockout is delivered in about 20 minutes.
While the music is strictly no-bullshit grind, the album is a bit disjointed. The pathology so deep-seeded and vitriolic that it’s easy to lose sight of what the band is angry about. Some songs read like journal entries from a politically astute gutter punk (the blunt “Shock And Awe”). At other times lyrics sound like a salvo from a militant Teabagger. “Militant Resentment” is a good example: “You can call our hate misdirected, just pray the same goes for our bullets.” I think I saw that on a sign during the recent health U.S. care debate. Perhaps Infanticide doesn’t see much worth in anything except catchy two-minute grind tracks.
There is no contact information listed on the album outside of a hotmail address so it’s quite possible they are hunkered down in a bunker preparing for the apocalypse. Then again, they might not be all serious: if you examine the liner notes they thank Bolt Thrower and Carly Simon.