If success in metal were measured by the degree to which an act is the centerpiece of sadistic, forceful entertainment, Manhattan’s Unsane would be gold. Americans like the sound, look, and feel of strangers being destroyed, but how to make money on that unless you’re in the military or in penology? Unsane will always be in competition for the pennies of swine more likely to, say, want bootlegs of the U.S. Army DVD Another Day, Another Scumbag, in which “hajis” are torn apart by heavy machine-gun fire.
Past Unsane assets include one member beaten by fans until his intestines ruptured, group runs to spill gallons of butcher shop blood on blighted loading docks in the name of album art, and cruel videos of a suicide bomber blowing up the subway or skateboarders in a multitude of nausea-inducing collisions: depleted uranium, hard and stern. The rhythms on the new CD Blood Run are locked in, and the song titles won’t disappoint—”Killing Time,” “Make Them Prey,” “Hammered Out.” These are young men so tough that if they swing at you and miss the wind gives you pneumonia. Plus they wear baseball caps made of cold-pressed tin! The first few songs on Blood Run are massive and grinding art-death. I’d tell you more about them but for two things: First, the promotional CD had some copy-control trick on it that shows the number of the songs as “54” or “99” and second, it’s time to eat my daily bag of brass knuckles and masonry chips.