It's hard being in a band. Finding motivation and inspiration, plus coordinating with and around the schedules of your bandmates to practice and put yourself out there for gigs- it's one Sisyphean hill after another. Risking embarrassment and financial ruin in the hopes that some half dozen hands will clap in a poorly lit, lousy dive in flyover country and then maybe buy a shirt after you finish your 2 o'clock set*- who in their right mind would sign up for that? It's a rough and rocky path that puts significant restraints on your time, finances, and life in general... yet against their better judgment, thousands of people make it work every day. People who commit themselves to this thankless, inadvisable struggle have my admiration (hence, this blog), especially if they can manage to push against the mounting inertia of their situation to steadily improve their sound. Speaking of which (and to the point), Pittsburgh hardcore group Tough Cuffs has made a significant leap with their EP All Dogs Go to Heaven. Their previous release, Bliss Point, showed a lot of potential, incorporating Cure-esque, moody post-punk hooks and a purposeful sense of rhythm to shroud their blasting, steel-toughed, gut-rock plunge in a cloud of compelling nightmares. On their latest EP, the midnight-tinted melodic potential encapsulated in their early work is now thoroughly threaded through the skin of each track, armoring their approach in a coherent mesh of kevlar-grade canorousness that punches through the resistance of the listener's apathy like a hollow point, clearing a gap for reflections on life's motivation, mere survival, and troubled notions of masculinity to pour in and steep like a bubbling jacuzzi of hurt. The record also sees the group going in a much harder direction overall, taking thrash ques from meat-packing NYC hardcore crashers and stagger-stomping, army-booted, youth crew-crushers- concessions to their brutal inner demons, which dog-pile up to reach an alter of Collective Soul scraped and bathed Kyuss, a plateau of bone-rattling angst, simply titled "Feel." All pooches might make it to paradise, but wherever Tough Cuffs are headed I'm not sure any God-fearing mutt would dare to follow.
