There’s a special certain cinema that begs to be watched over and over again. There is no definitive reason as to why this is so, but many of its cultists acknowledge and embrace its charm regardless of merit. Some of the worst films become the most enjoyable not only because of their artistic shortcomings, but because of the clueless individuals behind the camera. Ed Wood‘s Plan 9 From Outer Space is considered one of, if not the worst, films of all time, yet many heartily enjoy its shortcomings and incongruousness (often resulting in unintentional hilarity). Why is this so? How can a film like Glen or Glenda?, with its atrocious acting, guerrilla location scouting, and a non-existent plot, receive so much love? The answer lies in a little thing called sincerity. Mr. Wood didn’t “sweat the small stuff,” thinking no one would notice the shifts from daylight to darkness, actors tripping over gravestones or even repeating lines. He was too busy illustrating his imagination on celluloid. He, along with countless others, truly believed in their projects (someone thought Santa Claus Vs. The Martians was a good idea), which accounts for 95% of their charm.
There are incidences of this charm in music. William Hung comes to mind, where for a short while being talentless was all the rage. Or is it still in? Emmure have none of this charm. Felony completely hits the mark on every boneheaded metalcore cliche and further degrades itself by taking itself way too seriously. See, the album tries to scare and intimidate with its detuned chugging (there’s one), its out-of-place breakdowns (there’s another), and its chest pumping bro-isms (just take the prize already). There isn’t too much one can say about an album that leaves absolutely no impression. Songs blend into one another, cobbled from riffs taken from other metalcore mashers who already photocopied the blueprints of so many bands that the sound is likened to that of a twentieth-generation tape dub, crackles and inconsistency etched into its being. “Sunday Bacon” and “I Thought You Met Telly and Turned Me Into Casper” (what?) ape Bury Your Dead and Solace-era Ion Dissonance, but with tongue firmly planted away from cheek. It’s like a little kid watching his brother make fun of modern music on a killer amplifier, only to influence said kid to create a band that lived by the stupidity of the older sibling. Honestly, who in their right minds makes a record like this? The vocals are all over the place (Frankie Palmeri does this talking/whining/off-key singing thing that has no place in this music), turning tracks “You Sunk My Battleship” and the aforementioned “…Casper” into karaoke night at the YMCA. Jeffrey Moireira‘s probably having a laugh. It’s pretty obvious the band’s going for his vocal approach but, unlike the Poison the Well main man, this one just gets goofy.
We appreciate the little mistakes in life. It’s what makes everything so interesting. Felony isn’t a mistake. It’s an uninspired, heavily produced mess. Whether it’s the song titles (“R2 Deepthroat,” “Immaculate Misconception”) or the preschool, Fred Durst influenced lyricism (“This is what I wanted/ This is what I needed/ This is what I’m looking for/ And now you’re gonna give it to me” off of “First Impressions,” and a nice one at that), this album shouldn’t have seen the light of day. Seriously, there isn’t anything good about this record. Unless you like jun-wees every ten seconds (that palm-muted open into “dirrrrrrrrrty!!!!” chord progression), the aforementioned young-child-throwing-a-tantrum vocals, and several variations of playing the same three chords, you’re better off hammering your teeth into your face than listen to this casually.
It’s really a shame. Emmure’s Victory debut, Goodbye to the Gallows, is a strong release. This record feels more like a cash grab than anything setting out to make a statement. Put your money elsewhere and support artists like Reign Supreme, who are actually getting this brand of Hatebreed-inspired hardcore done right.
(1.0/10)
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