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Going to Extremes
[Locust] May. 19, 2003
By Matt Schild
"Love is with unexpected regularity accompanied by hate, and not only that in human relationships hate is frequently a forerunner of love, but also that in many circumstances hate changes into love and love into hate." Sigmund. Freud, 1923.
Freud could have been writing about The Locust: Few bands have spawned such hatred and love for themselves as it has. The Locust is the kind of that dares you to like it; it also dares you to hate it.
Since the San Diego band formed in 1995, just about everyone who's crossed its path has done one or the other. The screamo/spazzcore band's got a polarizing effect: Either you hear it, get it and embrace it, or write it off as unintelligible noise distinguished only by bad taste. Both views are probably right, as the act's Anti-Records debut, Plague Soundscapes, due out June 24, is a bit of both. Ridiculously fast-paced and short-lived songs -- the record's 23 tracks zip by in a mere 21 minutes -- take the fury of grindcore and turn it up a notch. Drenched in buzzing guitars that live up to the band's swarming name, vocals that sound more like the death scream of a cylon from Battlestar Galactica than anything produced by a human larynx and tempos that make speed metal and thrash drummers look like slackers, Plague Soundscapes doesn't mess around. While post-hardcore took hardcore's brawn and forced it upon a considered, cerebral structure to get a cool, tightly focused fury, The Locust moves the other way: It's feral, it's basic and there's absolutely no room to think.
But think people do. With a sound that's, hands down, one of the most extreme to come out of any genre, it's hard not to mull over The Locust's output -- then express your love or hate for the band's aural blitzkrieg. Eight years in the underground gave the band quite a reputation, and enough fans and haters (even the band's official bio introduces the act with a quote from its hate mail) to ensure critics and fans alike will continue arguing about it for years and years to come. That alone is a success.
"Right now, in 2003, there's been a lot that's been done," says guitarist Bobby Bray. "There's still some room for stuff that maybe hasn't been done before, maybe a few things that haven't been put together before. There's always some way to trigger reactions from people. It depends upon what you're trying to do, though. If you just want to get a reaction, it's possible. I think it's a breath of fresh air when a band affects you or affects me. It's like 'Wow! Something happened!'"
He's right. In the post-millennial world of rock'n'roll, where hundreds of thousands of CDs are released annually, it's darn near impossible to even be noticed. It's even harder to be appreciated, and usually, it's just a token "This is nice" response. The Locust (Bray is joined by keyboardist Joey Karam, singer/bassist Justin Pearson and drummer Gabe Serbian) discounts likes and dislikes as old fashioned. In the post-millennial world of art, success isn't about beauty, force or aesthetics, but simply overcoming the environmental noise created by media and popular culture and then invoking a reaction, any reaction. For The Locust, the sort of audience hate that makes hardcore kids spit obscenities and critics sharpen their talons is an end that's just as legitimate as inspiring fans to tattoo the band logo on their scrotums.
"That's fine with me," Bray laughs about the notion of a legion of Locust despising listeners. "As long as their brains are going, it's good. There's been some communication from us if they hate us. If it gets them really activated, then good. Our job has been done."
The Locust has been working overtime, then. Touring nearly half the days of last year, the band's brought its live show, complete with tight-fitting outfits and bizarre locust-mask headwear, to audiences from coast to coast. A few seven-inch and 12-inch singles secured the band in the underworld, as did a few releases on GSL, but, when compared to the mystique that surrounds the oft-hated band, there's few releases and even less label push until now. The buzz, from the hate mail in the act's email inbox to the nasty reviews by 'zine writers who want their hardcore, slow, fast and ridiculously outdated, has been created almost solely by The Locust's oddball sound and, probably more so, its unforgettable live show.
Of course, The Locust is more than just a crew of naughty provocateurs trying to get a rise out of easily provoked hardcore kids and even more easily manipulated writers. That's certainly a part of its formula, but there's higher aims than just ire-raising exploits. Underneath the costumes, the tempos and the affronting sonics, The Locust hold some lofty artistic aims: It wants to keep rock music artistically rolling forward.
"There's bands out there that are pushing. It's kind of been happening through the history of music. There's bands that are trying to do something different or to push the limits of existence or sound," Bray says. "It seems to me that in the masses, there isn't really that much, which is kind of sad, really. That's kind of a reflection of society. Whatever art or music is out there for everyone, that's almost as if that's society as a whole, as an entity can only get as far as the art that helps them delve into the abyss of the unknown or whatever. It's really sad to think that shitty bands are so big.
"What's really funny is the universal themes that they go for, like a relationship breaking up. My favorite lately is Linkin Park: 'I tried so hard! In the end it doesn't even matter!' It's the lowest common denominator, boiled down to its most almost animalistic sentences that everybody can be 'Oh, I've felt like that before!' I guess in a way, it's okay, but I would wish they would go more in depth."
Universal themes don't come anywhere near a Locust album. Pearson's delivery makes understanding the act's vocal tracks nearly impossible. For those who can decipher the screaming, it's mostly a mangle of absurdist statements (song titles include "The Half-Eaten Sausage Would Like to See You in His Office," "Priest with the Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Get Out of My Bed" and "Captain Gaydar, Turn on Your Radar") that aren't likely to be identifiable by more than five or six people, and most of them are fictional characters made up to litter the band's songs.
When such lyrics are coupled with the band's harsh sonics -- Plague Soundscapes actually makes the likes of Madball and Snapcase sound warm and welcoming -- it could come as a surprise that the annoyers could ever get on a label bigger than the highly respected, but highly unknown Gold Standard Laboratories. Then again, nobody would have guessed that fellow screamo rockers The Blood Brothers would put out a record through a major, ArtistDIRECT.
At the same time, what does a band such as The Locust stand to gain from moving up to an Epitaph imprint? A recording budget, for one: Plague Soundscapes was produced by Alex Newport (At the Drive-In, The Melvins, The Pattern) and gives the band a sleek, glossy sheen. Of course, the idea of The Locust getting commercial radio play or charting is about as likely as the marriage of Pamela Anderson to Richard Simmons, and even the notion of a large-scale audience overlapping with that of other Epitaph bands such as skate-punks Pennywise or ha-ha rockers Guttermouth isn't worth betting on. In fact, Locust albums are probably going to piss those people off. So what's the point? Bray says it's just potential exposure the band seeks with its new business arrangement.
"The whole thing is we're not trying to exclude anybody from hearing us," he explains. "That's part of the reason we've never played an under-age show and we never will. We don't want the whole thing of exclusion, like 'Oh, it's a secret band that's only for me and my friends.' It should just be more open or something. A lot of times it's bands who want to be political, but really they're just into this tight niche of humans. It almost defeats the whole purpose. If you're trying to get a message out, wouldn't you want it to get to everybody?
"I don't think people will just buy it because of the label," Bray continues. "There's ways to hear it before hand. Anti- has a few songs on their web site. I can imagine someone hearing it and going 'Wow! I'll check that out.' Hopefully it'll appeal to people. If it works out for them, it works out."
Longtime Locust fans who fear Plague Soundscapes will featured a Locust-Lite, toned down for a wider audience, can relax. The band's just as intense, fiery and annoying as ever. After all, the band's kept its songwriting process the same for the new album.
"We take turns slapping each other in the face, then we try to hum out a riff and whoever hums the loudest with their part, that's usually the part we use," Bray deadpans. "Whoever's got the loudest hum, they win. Then we have to figure out how the riff goes based upon how well they did the onomatopoeia of their instrument. Sometimes when Gabe does it, it's hard to decipher the drums. We're just getting rid of outros and intros and getting to the heart of the song, getting to what really matters. There's not really much time to do stuff anymore. You've got to use live time as best as you can."
Bray's right. These days, there's all manner of boring crap that vies for audiences. You've got to rush if you want to make people love you, or hate you for that matter. For The Locust, it'll take just about five minutes to polarize opinions. How many bands out there can make that
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