Are You That Goddamn Son Of A Bitch? Trap Them at the Great Scott

The thing about the Great Scott is that their shows start late, end later, right? So I waltz up to the joint at around 11, on dat dank, hoping that I missed the openers and could skip right to the part where shit blows up, see. But I underestimated the Great Scott’s capacity for timewasting and still had two and a half more Phantom Glue songs to go. Now, don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy their music, but I needed to show up amped and keep my vibe going for the remainder of the show. And I dunno about you, but their Bison B.C. meets Mastodon stoner/sludge swagger doesn’t make me want to pit it up all night. Lunglust and Jack Burton v. David Lo Pan would have done even more to mellow the fire that burned away the skeletons in my belly that fuel my rage, so I wasn’t havin’ that. Ladies and gentlemen, with little further ado: Trap Them.

One of the most furious and uncompromisingly dark of the modern metalcore movement (read: All Pigs Must Die, Armed For Apocalypse, Nails, etc. not Asking Alexandria, Born of Osiris, etc.), Trap Them is blood-boltered from figurative head to toe. Taking their cues from Converge but adding in that Sunlight Studios tone so effectively weilded by Swedish death metal masters in Entombed and Dismember, adding in drums that alternate between sandblasting fury and timeless punk rhythms, and a growling rumble of a bass that provides not a backing for the guitar, but a feeling of anxiety and claustrophobia that fits the theme and aesthetic of the band. If this sounds like hyperbole, go listen to any of their releases and come back wowed by how a band can so effotlessly juggle sludgy endurance rounds with short and brutal workouts for your neck and mind.

The pit’s perpetual motion could have been harnessed to solve the world’s energy problems. Nary a moment was spent in rest, except of course between songs. But even then some people were liable to collide into one another. It’s a marvel I managed to get out with only a headbut to the right side of my face, a few mysterious (but tiny) cuts on my hands, and the soreness that comes from doing amateur martial arts to aggressive music. “Insomniawesome”, “The Facts”, “Saintpeelers/Manic In The Grips”, among others, formed this pleasant soundtrack to my mental escape. Catch them sometime, but beware of rabid Seans.


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