Discharge - Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing review
|Album:||Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing|
|Release date:||May 1982|
01. Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing
02. The Nightmare Continues
03. The Final Blood Bath
04. Protest And Survive
05. I Won't Subscribe
06. Drunk With Power
08. A Hell On Earth
09. Cries Of Help
10. The Possibility Of Life's Destruction
11. Q: And Children? A: And Children
12. The Blood Runs Red
13. Free Speech For The Dumb
14. The End
15. Never Again [bonus]
16. Death Dealers [bonus]
17. Two Monstrous Nuclear Stockpiles [bonus]
18. State Violence State Control [bonus]
19. Dooms Day [bonus]
20. Warning [bonus]
21. Where There's A Will There's A Way [bonus]
22. In Defence Of Our Future [bonus]
23. Anger Burning [bonus]
24. The Price Of Silence [bonus]
25. Born To Die In The Gutter [bonus]
26. The More I See [bonus]
Nah, that's not a lyric.
Suicidal Tendencies genre-forming, crossover thrash debut was released after this Discharge album in 1983. And while Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing may lean slightly more toward the hardcore punk side of the neo-thrash spectrum, there is an unquestionable frenetic presence about this release that surely grabbed the underground world by the nads in 1982.
If you're one for time travel, you'll unnecessarily indicate that the album most closely associated to the destructive force of Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing is Ace of Spades by Motörhead. However, where Motörhead grooves, Discharge stomps around incorrigibly, song after song, like a maniac.
Ace of Spades' riffs, however, shalt not to be devalued! The bluesy styling of Motörhead remains immortal, and is obviously and undeniably incomparable. But Discharge (and Misfits) discovered a way to accelerate rock 'n' roll to levels of unheard obscenity.
Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing has an anachronistic charm. And yet, the album's holistic approach to hardcore punk is ever present. Discharge doesn't just stick it to the man, they strike down the fucking tyrant.
The lyrical content is delivered with a fundamental punch, thanks to "Cal" Morris and his smoldering, strained delivery. Thus, the album serves its purpose; inciting a frenzied mosh pit of followers, and driving an obsession for willful retaliation against all things inexplicable.
Nuclear holocaust you say? Discharge say GTFO!
The mix for this album is a conglomerate mass. Guitar, bass, and drums are all smashed together, much like the cover art; BRADY BUNCH STYLE.
…anyway, think of that ugly metamorphic rock, all cemented together; it's looking ripe to be thrown through the corporate office's window. Compile that image, press play, and wreck. The unnerving resonance of broken glass is the most notable auditory exclusion.
Disseminate, devolve, and thrash y'all. You deserve it.
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