Those familiar with the output of Slovenly Recordings will know they tend not to trade in anything pretty or clean cut. Most of their releases are razor-sharp, blunt and to the point. Nothing embodies the labels aesthetic quite like Scraper. Their abrasive brand of punk rock has been doing the rounds for some time, but they have undoubtedly hit their apex on their second album ‘Misery’.
Produced by Chris Woodhouse, whose CV includes Thee Oh Sees, Ty Segall, and Blind Shake, ‘Misery’ is not easy on the ear. The imperfect production keeps it raw and urgent. It is a no-frills, raucous ride of punk fury from the moment the opening title track hisses from your speakers. It spits bile across eleven frenzied bursts of energy, evoking panic and passion in equal measure. Machine-gun drumming cuts through visceral guitars at every given opportunity, rarely giving you a chance to catch your breath.
The simplistic chord progression of ‘Rats In The House’ channels the spirit of the Ramones, as if it were being pushed through a post-punk filter. ‘Misery’ is redolent of punk’s golden era, particularly when ‘Under My Tongue’ and ‘Rodent’ sound as if they have been dragged violently kicking and screaming straight out of ’77. There are obvious nods to Wire, and even the occasional hint of Big Black on the larynx-shredding ‘Panic’.
Scraper clearly set out to make nothing else but a punk record with ‘Misery’. They never deviate from the point they are trying to make, and you almost feel exhausted just listening to it. The bass heavy ‘Trash Can’ acts as the perfect precursor to the disjointed album closer ‘Nine Minutes In Hell’, which is the final nail in the coffin before the album drains you of everything you have.
You will have heard bands pay homage to almost every iconic band out there, and while some nail it others feel like a carbon copy. Scraper wear their influence proudly but are completely relevant in today’s climate. There’s nothing pretty about ‘Misery’ and it doesn’t hide behind any kind of façade. This is punk rock in its purest form.
GLEN BUSHELL