When METZ released their self-titled debut in 2012, not even they were prepared for the immediate cult status it would welcome. Despite its overt noise rock, METZ found themselves celebrated in wider musical communities; finding a particularly strong home within the indie market. Their scene shared little in common with their sound, yet successfully generated an undercurrent of reverb heavy upstarts that fittingly placed METZ on a pedestal.
Three years later and the Toronto trio return with a new selection of fuzzy, distorted punk that carries the same density as their debut. Fittingly entitled ‘II’, these thirty minutes continue almost exactly where their self-titled left off. Seemingly deliberately opting against huge progression, ‘II’ follows the same noisy path laid down in 2012, dominated by complex yet indistinguishable soundscapes.
The baselines are heavy; the guitar work loud and frenetic. Yet throughout, as is immediately demonstrated on opening number ‘Acetate’, there is a steady and rhythmic punch to each track. Adam Edkins’ vocals blend into the instrumentation, with each providing another gritty sonic level. ‘II’ presents itself as one audible punch rather than a carefully constructed one.
Herein lies the beauty; under all the distorted noise, METZ have once again paid meticulous attention to each individual component, yet the result presents itself as something more organic. It may disappoint those who found beauty in the more obvious intricacies of the debut, and does see ‘II’ become a little repetitive at times, however a newly discovered nonchalant grunge attitude runs through the record’s veins.
‘II’ isn’t far removed from previous material. METZ continue their reverb laden, dirty sonic assault with an expert combination of precision and ease, and similarities to their debut can easily be forgiven in favour of the record’s abundant explosiveness. ‘II’ sees METZ waver between their inert need for control and a desire to let loose – a confusion that continues their dense and claustrophobic sound.
BEN TIPPLE