The Wicked EP is screamo at its peak. Released in 2002, this is everything it should be: the hardcore aesthetic is there in buckets, it opens with a post-rock influenced instrumental, the vocals are dripping with angst, and the two guitarists are involved in some kind of crazy battle as to who can rock out harder. There are more sexy riffs than you can shake a bass at. Meanwhile, the drummer is going to constantly fuck shit up like noone’s business. The words ‘verse’ and ‘chorus’ have no meaning. You can’t go wrong.
‘End on 6’ is one of the most delicious screamo songs ever made. It begins with a killer muthafucking riff that builds, is suddenly overpowered by distortion, and when it clears, you can’t work out where the riff went. Dynamics are used liberally, shifting between traditional emo-whisper/emo-shriek styles without it seeming clichéd, because they’ve actually constructed a sensible format for the change to occur in. Then absurd violent lyrics are screamed near indecipherably, and the track closes with one line screamed over and over again. YUM.
‘The Wicked’ contains enough distinct musical parts to make an EP in itself, but the fact that it was not allowed to just means that you are left with a very sexy short track that gets to shift around a LOT, experimenting with ways to segue into entirely different musical parts and back smoothly. Maybe it shouldn’t work? But it does. Very very well.
‘It Burns’ rounds out the EP, beginning with a slowly picked melody, guitar overdriven in the manner characteristic of emo. The melody develops quickly, accelerating until when the drums stop and the second guitar launches in, before collapsing in on itself. It is the most emotional track on the album, which is strange, given it’s the only one in which I can’t pick out what the vocalist is on about. But the drums are played with an earnesty that can’t be denied, and the longing guitars are probably a little too reminiscent of past events to any listener. It’s a great closer.
If you’re at all interested in the sub-genres of hardcore (which, given the Salient readership, is about noone), check this shit out. In all its crouched on the floor, pulling your hair out, goodness. For reals. By