In a recent review of Cinnamon Moon by SVNTH, I said that it was a;
fantastic single and not only sets up Punk Noise Youth as an upcoming album you should have on your radar, but will have you virtually salavating at the prospect of its April 18th release date.
So, yeah, it’s safe to say that I am a fan, and when I was sent a copy of their second single from the album, Perfume, I was eager to see where this track led and what it offered ahead of the April release of Punk Noise Youth. It’s safe to say, it didn’t disappoint.
From the outset, Perfume hits differently to Cinnamon Moon. Whereas I compared the latter to Mayhem, as it is steeped in Black Metal from the word go, Perfume is a much more melodic effort, with sweeping waves of sound as opposed to the crashing storm waves of Cinnamon Moon, and with vocals clear and hypnotic.
In fact, the only time that Rodolfo Ciuffo cuts loose with his full screaming roar is during the chorus and at the end of the song and this gives a totally different feel to Perfume. This is reflected in the music itself, as Perfume is less of a full on assault and more a case of what the battlefield feels like when the smoke clears.
Musically it is almost dreamlike. Admittedly, a heavy as hell dream that will crush you under its weight as it swoops down upon you like a bird of prey, but instead of the guitars being set to kill here, they are set to stun. Or at least maim.
They carry you on their back with a gentleness that is almost at contrast with the powerful riffs and licks that are laid down, while the rhythm section fills out this wall of noise with thunderous bass and precision drumming, the latter of which will leave your jaw on the floor once again.
If Cinnamon Moon made me salivate at the thought of Punk Noise Youth finally finding my way into my collection, then Perfume makes me crave it like a starving man craves food, and as far as I’m concerened April 18th can’t get here quickly enough, so I can feast on the tasty metal goodness that lays within.
I said it last time, call it Black Gaze, call it Post Hardcore, call it your Great Aunt Gertrude for all I fucking care. I call it fucking proper. Banging fucking record.
