“Let’s conduct a thought experiment: picture a noise band selling their souls to play better noise. The devil appears in a cloud of sulfur at a crossroads. He does this a lot, so he doesn’t stop to notice this particular intersection is the crux of sludge and post-hardcore. He offers the assembled musicians incomparable guitar skills in exchange for their eternal essence. “You mean like a more abrasive guitar tone?” they ask, which kind of throws him. He conjures visions of the fame and carnal pleasures awaiting if they accept his offer. They point out that they screen print their own t-shirts in the bassist’s garage and they doubt they could fill orders over 100.” Hard bargains.
