Zitat:If you”™re a fan of getting your face shredded with some technical metal instrumentals that manage to keep poking the fun into a musical style that can so often drift off into pure indulgent wank, then Adebisi Shank are for you.

These Dubliners sure do bring the noise with their debut ”˜This Is the Album”¦”™ (which they recorded in J. Robbins legendary Magpie Cage studio in Baltimore), as they keep the noodling in check and let rip with some really bouncy riffing and melodies a plenty across their [really] short album that clocks in at only 23 mins 15 seconds.

They take the Mathcore/Tech Metal influences of Don Caballero and splice it with the danc-ier influence of Battles and a hint of Baltimore”™s Oxes. None of the tracks really veer away from the in your face choppy time signature drenched dance floor rippers and it can become quite samey, but who cares when its this short and so much fun.

”˜You Me”™ has a tight sound and the nearest they get to vocals are a vocoded noise that sounds like a cross between a guitar and a voice filtered through a robot saying "you" and "me". The track ”˜Shunk”™ also has this vocoder effect and a skull crushing build up that makes me want to wig the fuck out and throw myself bluntly around in a room filled with timid looking twenty somethings holding pints far too close to their chins.

”˜Minirockers”™ is a non-disputed highlight of ”˜This Is The Album”¦”™ with some driving and pounding technical drumming that keeps on building into crescendo after crescendo; and then there is the dirty release of power with all the scuzz-ridden guitars that lock onto the groove like a sugar rush. This one is a proper mathcore booty shaker.

The final two tracks, ”˜I Answer To “Doc””™ & ”˜Snakehips”™ also make you want to move as the latter”™s title suggests. “Doc” is maybe the happiest sounding tune on the album with some excellent euphoric melody but the closer is brutal; its definitely in your face and has the most bouncing percussion that gives the tune a real energy, before it ends the journey through a manic shred and fade away; leaving you heaving your, no doubt, pit stained shirt, reaching for the rewind.