Proclaiming themselves to be making "brutal grind for brutal dudes," these four Michigan gentlemen are doing just that and more, since I'm sure there are one or two un-brutal dudes or broads out there that listen to SYNT. But here at the Belly, we are totally brutal, so we love their idea. I am still waiting for a band to make "lazy grind for lazy dudes" though, because I could get behind that more than anything. I've been known to be pretty lazy here and there. Mostly "here," because to be lazy "there" would require me to do something in getting to wherever "there" is, and that in itself is very non-lazy.
Oh, you want more info? Brutal grind for brutal dudes didn't explain enough? Alright, alright. Well, to begin, these guys are pretty brutal. And they play grind. Some dudes listen to it.
Fuck! You want more?! You Bellions are getting a little too greedy and expecting. Why do we always have to tell you about everything? Can't people just go and buy the disc? What if I was about to go put chains on the tires of my car for winter? What if I was going to run out and get some moisturizer for my pretty face? What if I was going to yell at that broseph who's dog won't shut the fuck up and shits in my yard? Well, lucky for you, I don't have a car, my face is the complete opposite of pretty and smooth, and I don't have a yard for any dogs to leave steamy Avenged Sevenfold albums (i.e. crap) in. So I guess I'll just tell you about the record.
It is brutal, and it is grind, but it's also hella. I saw these guys live and they tore shit up. They were so amazing that time stopped and we entered another dimension for a few seconds. The only way we were able to get back to Euclidean space and time was because SYNT were picked up in a helicopter by the government and flown away for experimentation. Believe it, it's true.
But in all seriousness, as we here at the Belly always are, See You Next Tuesday is pretty gnar. (That sentence just rhymed. If you missed it, read it again stressing "are" and "gnar".) They are fairly technical, which is always a plus, but I wish there was another guitar. One guitar just falls a little short. If these mans had another six-string shredder, my head would explode. The vocals are killer, with all octaves being hit perfectly. The singer's got a pretty decent range, and that is fun for everyone, even people with MRSA. The songs are short and fast, but what do you expect? No epics here, just straight up carnage. I think this album comes in at just over 18 minutes for 14 songs, so if you have 20 minutes to spare, instead of jerking off to your mom's Victoria Secret catalog, listen to Michigan's finest.
Here's the band playing "8 Dead, 9 if You Count the Fetus" in what looks like the middle of the street.
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