I can’t remember a time when Oneida wasn’t gnawing at the edges of my conciousness. About the time that this site started the band was front and center weaving between weekends and records that populated my view. As the band worked further away from the raw nerve and closer towards academic noise and compositional float, they’d stuck nicely with my own directions at the time. Now, as the band embarks upon their new album, Success, they’re back to the caffeinated shred of Each One / Secret Wars and the return to blistered form feels less like nostalgia and more like a phoenix rising from the rubble. The band has leveled the building and built it back up, but now its time to tear it apart through the very wires, an explosion of electricity that’s elemental in its execution.
The band feel like they never left the Brooklyn basements, salving their savaged fingers with the sweat dripping down the walls and pummeling the listeners’ pulse until it pushes past panic and into euphoria. The record rips open with a punk scowl that melts into a mess of pedal bred noise and gaff tape goo. The riffs on Success bump one another with a pit-bound disregard for personal boundaries, sweating things out like a pre-sickness stew of bodies in motion. The record seethes, as is only fitting for something gnawing on the drywall like this. It tenses, all hackles and no soft regard. If anything, our current era warrants a return to the angst. This is hardly time for softness, no matter how comforting it is to cocoon. This record returns fire, then dances around the flames. I’m down to join the celebration.
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