Demiricous - One (Hellbound) - Metal Blade Records 2006
12 Songs
Running Time: 40:13


Take the stockpile of whiplash-inducing riffwork in Practice What You Preach, pour it through a $12 case of beer, maybe get it a little high, and you've got the frenzy and fury of 'Repentagram'. Without time to catch your breath, Demiricous hurtle themselves (and you) drunkenly forth into 'Withdrawal Divine', all razor-sharp solo and overdriven thrashcore ala Disfear's underrated Misanthropic Generation. 'Vagrant Idol' slips past a little inconspicuously, but when the made-for-the-circle-pit Bay Area worship of 'Beyond Obscene' cranks up, it's fucking incedniary. Far from being a throwback to "the good old days", Demiricious piles on the brutal sensibilities of newer death metal (Naera, Vicious Art), giving the Dimebag-worship of the intro to 'Perfection And The Infection' a truckload of the band's own personality. This is not your little brother's metal band wearing their girlfriends' pants, that's for damn sure. To be honest, I'm a little pissed at Demiricious for not being around fifteen years ago, thereby giving me the chance to race down the backroads in my friend's pickup drunk as fuck with 'Heathen Up (Out For Blood)' on so loud you could hear the speakers fighting their losing battle and not caring. 'Cheat The Leader' slams forward through Discharge-styled punk sensibilities, only to crash headlong into the speed-demon riffery of 'Matador'. If before this moment One was a solid 8 in score, then the resurrected Pantera stomp of 'To Serve Is To Destroy' hammers this album right past the redline and sets the Metal-o-meter spinning all the way through the hardcore-influenced chorus until "that" riff. It's when "that" riff - you'll know it when you hear it - grabs you by the throat like a pitbull fresh off a broken rusted chain that Demiricious move this album from the merely "great" to the instantly classic. 'Ironsides' shifts the death metal side of things to the forefront again, Ben (ex-Upheaval) and Scott's dual guitars cranking out Gatling-gun patterns over the submachine drums of (now former) skinsman Chris Cruz. The only way I can think to describe (bassist/vocalist) Nate Olp's manic, booze-fuelled delivery throughout One is to imagine the bastard spawn of Tomas Lindberg and a 300 lb, 7ft-tall trucker on a whiskey binge. I'd rather not draw that mental image for you, but you get the idea.

I'll cut to the chase here, and lay it all out simply for you, asking you to keep in mind that I do not say this lightly. Not since Cowboys From Hell has straightforward American metal band's major-label debut threatened to set the scene on its ear and had the balls to back it up...until now.

www.demiricous.com


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