Richard HolmesWolfbrigade – Howl from Underground (Metal Blade)
“A signal flare for the hungry, the wild, the wicked.” It’s a statement culled from Wolfbrigade’s Notes On Failed Domestication manifesto – the philosophical backbone of this record. And it perfectly encapsulates the passion, rage and defiance that runs through the Swedes’ new album.
Yes, over a 30 year-plus career, we’ve grown accustomed to Wolfbrigade leading the d-beat charge, middle-fingers raised high in the air.
But decades after their formation, it’s heartening that the band still retain the spirit which made A New Dawn Fades, Lycanthro Punk and Allday Hell essential listening. Those records – made under their earlier Wolfpack moniker – helped to define discore. They fanned the flames lit by Discharge. They set the standard.
Howl from Underground might not have the raw, primal impact of those records. However, it builds on Wolfbrigade’s legacy… and proves that Life Knife Death, their gnarly 2024 comeback, was no fluke.
The frantic Doomrunner, former track of the week Cold War Bootlicker, the dramatic When Dogs Cry… they could all take their place alongside Wolfbrigade’s finest work.
Born to Rot? It swaggers like a drunk punk.
Fat Man Hellscape? A headlong charge into d-blivion.
Opening with the gnashing Caveman Motherfuck was also a masterstroke. Vocalist Micke Dahl sounds fucking furious. Returning drummer Dadde Stark – back with the boys after a decade way – obliterates his kit. Guitarists Erik Norberg and Jocke Rydbjer unleash an inferno – yet still manage to pour some dark melodies into the ‘brigade’s petrol tank.
That track sets the tone.
There’s no let-up.
No breathing space.
Frankly, we weren’t expecting any.
Howl from Underground is also an exceptionally heavy record. That probably has something to do with producer Lawrence Mackrory, who’s worked with Paradise Lost and Bloodbath, among others: he’s captured the band’s ferocity, balanced it with their penchant for subtle melody, and built serious muscle around Wolfbrigade’s punkish attack.
But in truth, you could give this outfit some ukeleles and a glockenspiel and they’d still start World War Three.
The wolves are back. And they’re howling’ fucking mad.
Wolfbrigade photo by Therese Öhrval.
