Band:	Machine Head
Album:	Catharsis
Style:	Alternative metal, Groove thrash metal
Release date:	January 2018

01. Volatile
02. Catharsis
03. Beyond The Pale
04. California Bleeding
05. Triple Beam
06. Kaleidoscope
07. Bastards
08. Hope Begets Hope
09. Screaming At The Sun
10. Behind A Mask
11. Heavy Lies The Crown
12. Psychotic
13. Grind You Down
14. Razorblade Smile
15. Eulogy

If Supercharger was Machine Head's St. Anger, Catharsis is their Lulu.

As we all know, Robb Flynn recently turned 14, and he's ready to celebrate by crowning himself one of metal's most histrionic poetasters. The forced, voice-cracking inferiority complex of Korn, the fathomless hormonal angst of Linkin Park, the indiscriminate, repetitive, and vulgar groove of Soulfly (featuring Corey Taylor), the inability to rap so proudly displayed on Supercharger... Machine Head hoards all the worst, most embarrassing tropes of alt/groove/nu metal as if it had never proven itself worthy of serious artistic consideration on albums like The Blackening and Burn My Eyes. It's a risky business, attempting to tackle serious political and social issues while wielding all the insightful lyricism of a pop-country cowboy cutout, the wannabe tough-guy posturing of an out-of-step pop-punk band, and the vocabulary of your average bawdy limerick.

Viewed from afar, about half of Catharsis is little more than a logical declension from Bloodstone & Diamonds, a sanded-down and pop-core-indebted parody of in-your-face groove metal - older Machine Head bowdlerized in spirit, if not in diction. Songs like "Volatile," "Screaming At The Sun," and "Hope Begets Hope" are no worse than soulless retreads of tunes that might have passed for old MH B-sides. Twisting words into shape to evoke base emotions has always been a task Robb approached with amateurish enthusiasm, if not any particular expertise, and the idea of mumbling or mewling verses before breaking out the belligerent bawling for the chorus has its roots in competent Machine Head releases. "Beyond The Pale" is surprisingly decent, even if the resemblance to Strapping Young Lad's "Love?" only suggests that there are better bands to be listening to at present. When the best a band can do is three steps down from a step down from "fine," however, it's not worth digging for the odd cool riff that survived into "Razorblade Smile" or the invigorating growls in "Grind You Down" - and the worst this band can do is far beyond that.

As much as Catharsis indentures itself to heavy music's most unfortunate pubescent cash cows, this album is more than just a cringe-inducing concoction of bland Slipknot ripoffs, exhausted clean choruses, harder-than-thou breakdowns, and store-bought palatable pablum. Bands similar to Machine Head, and even Machine Head themselves, have embarked on similar paths before, so you might think you know where this album is headed before you listen - but I tell you that you know nothing. This is more than In Flames's Shakespearean tumble from Gothenburg divinity to middling metalcore, more than Opeth's steady vanishing into the time-traveling Volkswagen of prog indulgence, more than a Megadeth backslide into softcore dad rock and angsty dotage-thrash. This is an Illud Divinum Insanus, a Dedicated To Chaos, a The Unspoken King... a Lulu. This is Supercharger updated for the modern era, now with 50% more painful yammering and moralistic caterwauling. This is the sound of a band choke-slamming itself through layers of intensive musical acrimony before retching to a stop in a barren field of breakdown-infested, testosterone-flushed pinch-harmonic-grubbing that would make Emmure take a step back and wonder if they were trying too hard.

Much of the album leaves the concept of inoffensive mediocrity choking in the dust between airy synths and quiet crooning. "Bastards" sounds like a hack cigar box-strumming anarchist pretending to be Dropkick Murphys until it degenerates into Robb screaming "NO NO NO NO NO" like Mike Muir discovering that somebody drank his Pepsi. Every time I replay "Behind A Mask" or "Eulogy," I have to brace myself in case I suddenly start hearing, "All around me are familiar faces..." "Triple Beam" balances the tender braggadocio of a Hatebreed workout playlist with the subtle artistry and tasteful composition of someone who just saw Straight Outta Compton and now thinks he can rap. It certainly doesn't help that this album is 75 minutes long; that would be asking a lot of a listener for an excellent album.

Machine Head's pop melodies are cribbed so shamelessly from radio-tier hardcore that The Chainsmokers would have passed on them for being too saccharine and condescendingly simple; there are lyrics so puerile and shallow that Limp Bizkit would have pursued some thoughtful rewrites before exposing such angst to the world. At least on Bloodstone & Diamonds, Machine Head was still recognizable as a heavy, forceful groove metal band that could thrash and grind with respectable levels of violence. During Catharsis's heavy moments, all I hear is child-proofed alt rock and I Can't Believe It's Not Deathcore. Once upon a time, Robb's powerful, hoarse bellowing could have given Phil Anselmo a run for his money. Now, Machine Head finds itself under the aegis of scratchy, breathless shouts and quavering, pathetic cleans that reek of failed attempts to capture the "realness" of Robb's lyrical fantasies. His harmonies and hooks have more to do with Sonic Syndicate than Pantera. If this had been any other vocalist, half the album might have been salvageable. Maybe. As it is, this album is actual trash.

Let me leave with this piece of advice:

No, Robbert. Heavy breathing is not an instrument.