Playlouder - Music is the Network

The idea of being sent free metal through the post appeals to me greatly. Amongst all the usual piles of We Smoke Offensive Fags, Yeah and Late of the Cub Scouts it was a spark of hope to see a black and white (mainly black) cover detailing some pseudo-mediaeval images and a pleasingly-faux-symmetrical band logo. 

Even more encouraging was the press release promising to “get British metal back on the map”.

Yeah! About time! Cradle of Filth have totally lost it and The Meads of Asphodel are still hibernating: there is room in my life for more metal; especially metal that describes itself as ‘Progressive’. 

I mean, Bullet For My Valentine are big, but they're not all that clever.

Unfortunately, a quick spin of this disc ('Silent Shadows') is enough to convince me that Redemption Unnamed are little more than a misjudged, mistimed misfire right for the heart of the mainstream: about as progressive as the BNP and about as metal as my arse, these Plymouth hopefuls have a hell of a long way to go before they’ve anything to offer any one of many oversubscribed musical subcultures.

The promised prog element is manifest in little more than the odd (and I don't mean strange) irritating ambient interlude: the songs themselves are wet goth bullshit that wouldn’t wash in Sunnydale’s pap-vamp hangout The Bronze. 

The “beauty and the beast” vocals are years behind the Nightwishes of the world and Danielle Hawkins is more likely to be Justin’s less talented sister than a graduate from the Gossow school of scream queens. Her vocals lack character, but moreover they lack strength. 

Still, it’s the musical style that really grates. This sort of nu-metal bullshit was already old hat by the time I was at university, and Redemption Unnamed aren’t even particularly good at it: weak unmemorable riffs and a sludgy (as in indistinct) sound that renders all ingredients indiscernible from one another. 

The icing on the crap cake is the woefully-ill-conceived lyrics; a torrent of clichés are enlivened only by the occasional attempt at a pretentious couplet: the subject matter is seriously tired, being entirely angsty alienation and bruised organs. 

“Feeling fucking worthless just because we stand out from the crowd / So we may not be like you, but still we should be proud.” 

Oh, do fuck off.