In search of true believers: The Locust, Cattle Decapitation, and Daughters

Cattle Decapitation

It seems that more and more people, especially younger audiences, are tuning in to the idea that, as G.G. Allin once said, "rock 'n' roll is the fury within you." The Locust, Cattle Decapitation, and Daughters -- stopping at Club Stratus this week -- are currently touring cross-country, spreading their vicious, intense, rebellious music to an exploding legion of fans. But are these fans just poseurs?

"I know some aren't pretending," says Travis Ryan, lead singer of Cattle Decapitation, the schizophrenic metal powerhouse primed to score Armageddon. "I know some genuinely like this music. But you can't tell me that some bitch that's like 15 years old and calling herself 'Brittany Brutal' or something on MySpace, is really into gore metal. ... It's this whole new MySpace death-core revolution of fucking little kids, Job For A Cowboy, and all that.

"I mean, it could only be good news for us, 'cause they're paying attention at least," Ryan adds. "But ... if it wasn't for Job For A Cowboy, then these chicks would just be diverting their attention to A Simple Plan."

While Cattle Decapitation's brand of gore metal may not stylistically fit the punk pigeonhole, the band does have the attitude. It's an old-school punk mentality, more in the vein of the Fight Club mantra: "You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all part of the same compost pile."

For those who lament the soft and generally mainstream turns the punk genre has taken in the past decade, The Locust delivers New Erections, a vicious, spastic collection of manic spurts as obsessively precise as it is violent. It's the kind of music that makes you want to bash your head into a brick wall, just to remind yourself what real pain is like.

As with its abrupt previous releases, New Erections' 11 tracks amount to only 23 minutes. Within those bursts, though, are takes on corporate greed, pollution and bits of other social and political satire, amid The Locust's meticulously layered sonic madness. It's like G.G. Allin with ProTools, a clear head and cooler outfits. It's music that feels dangerous -- even better than running through a mall with a flamethrower.