There is something about Madball‘s steadfast refusal, perhaps inability, to develop their shouty macho hardcore sound that just grates. On one hand there’s the admirable fact that they’re still going as a band (arguably it’s just as impressive that they’re still alive), still making one-fingered riffs and setting them to songs about unity, injustice, unity, the pit, unity and unity, as so many trends come and go. But then again there’s the inescapably obvious point that for all their preaching about scene togetherness, Madball have been making the same album for the same circle of people for years.
That’s not to say that they’re not good at what they do – after all, after this long even a penguin could pull some proficient pit moves – because without a doubt, Madball know their sound: chunky, metallic hardcore punk that could strip paint and drink a beer at ten paces as characterised by each and every track here. There’s not much point in singling out particulars because, to be honest, even for the most ardent fan this is a collection of brutal songs that all sound the same. There’s nothing new on display – leave that to the young bucks – so this remains, just like Madball themselves, for fans only.
Ben