The Sunday before last, a pretty prominent personality in the hardcore scene told me I needed to take the next day (Labor Day) off. No work. No chores. Just me, my ass, and a bag of chips. And like the overachiever that I am, I ended up taking the entire week! Facedown on the concrete slab that is my basement floor, no chips though, just lapping up mildew and sucking on mold and spider eggs. Talk about your stay-cays, am I right, girls? So now that I've dragged myself up and homo-vertical again, I'm ready and raring to tell you all about something that matters! Something that I'm deeply passionate about. That's right, New Jersey's very own Merc(k), a high-quality producer of essential medicines and cancer treatments, who leverage the power of heckin' science to save and improve questionably sentient biomass across the globe. Their subsidiaries represent an attractive portfolio for pre-seed, targeted investment for savvy funders looking to finance in the future starting in Q1 of 2027, and... *deafening sonic howl increases in pitch in the background* Um, do you all hear that? *an unmanned Shahed drone crashes through the window and explodes, taking out the whole floor and causing the building to collapse into itself, floor by floor, into a pile of rubble. As the fog of devastation clears, I can be seen casually wandering into frame to survey the destruction. Amongst the heaps of shattered concrete and splintered timbers, I peer down at my own mutilated visage, a mangled human form with sparking wires and other mechanical components jutting out from the crushed and burned formerly human facsimile. I smile, cock an eyebrow, and look at the camera* Boy, AI is really getting out of control? Wacky stuff, cuh! Anyway... *camera switches vantage point, I am now in profile facing left* Let's get back to the REAL review! *an abrupt coughing sound is heard off screen. *In a nervous blur I pivot to face the new angle of the lens, my eyes now meet yours, a strained chuckle of embarrassment escapes between clenched teeth* Sorry, it's hard to see my mark with all this... um, rubble around. Alright! What does North Carolina have that South Carolina doesn't, besides higher taxes and stricter firework laws (so lil' Johnny can keep all his fingers on the 4th)? The only real answer is Merc, the powerviolence duo who have a date with disaster. Following the misanthropically materialized 2025 LP
Debhumanized,
No One Leaves This Room punches the pedal all the way through to the wheel well as they spin out into a corporate lobby with a trunk full of propane and a grudge to kill. It's as frothy at the gums as its predecessor, with a slightly smoother gait, meaning that each track can close the gap between it and your throat with less effort than previously believed. Slithering without friction in a sea of muck, liquid decay, and viscera, they strike without hesitation like a cobra, poisoning and incapacitating, before bending and breaking the limbs of their rueful targets. From the corrupt to the capricious, if their crimes weigh too dearly on others' shoulders and conscience, then a gashing groove of barbed bass and skull-craving rhythmic acrimony is eagerly incoming to black-bag and tag these tyrants with extreme prejudice. Parsing these bouts of righteous dread dispensary are intersections of moody vespertine waltzes of undertow, wine-dark post-punk vintage from the best years of Bauhaus, a provable spawning ground for banshees and kuntilanak, restless spirits set loose to roam and wrack their cries over your senses, a devilish harem which may help to explain the wailing affliction that suffuses the rest of the record.
No One Leaves This Room is a tactical detonation of severe, morbid-future-averting punk, emitting shock wave after rippling shock wave to fry the motherboards of a system that is void of integrity and which is owed no Merc(y). *a whirling howl can be heard incoming* God damn it, this is for that last pun, isn't it? *everything within 20 feet of the impact site is suddenly vaporized or turned to molten glass*
