The American Black Lung, …And They Rode Their Weapons Into War

I usually reserve the term “brutal” for death metal, where the Cannibal Corpses of the world enlighten us with the finer intellectual details concerning disembowelment and necrotic fantasy. This is usually administered via a double-bass ninja and a twin-detuned guitar attack going at a blistering pace, while the Beast Rabban tears out his bowels with Cookie Monster growls. After listening to …And They Rode Their Weapons Into War, the latest from Tucson’s The American Black Lung, I may have to revise my nomenclature.

The American Black Lung are “brutal,” and are everything good about the post-pop-punk pushback happening right now. Like friends and local Houston heroes The Jonbenét, ABL force their groove on the audience by way of their attitude and song arrangements rather than by tuning their weapons down to subsonic levels. Every song on …And They Rode Their Weapons Into War is tight, tightly played and written. The highlight of the band and the album is the fantastic locked-in groove of bassist Dhusty Rhodes and drummer W. Moon. The thickness and power of ABL is in this awesome bottom end, a cement and rebar foundation that the rest of the band lug-bolts their parts to. While limited in range, Diamond Rhino’s vocals are all power and no subtlety, and Johny Detroit and Easy E tear into their Gibsons and Peavey 5150s (creating yet another non-traditional 5150 sound, proving once again how versatile these amps are) with aplomb. No wussy Fenders, please.