Rating: 2.5/5.0 DR: 6 | Format Reviewed: 320 kbps mp3 Label: Unique Leader Website: facebook.THIS IS THE MOST ANTICIPATED NEW CIGAR RE-RELEASE OF THE YEAR! I think the gents from Stolen Throne have completely outdone themselves with the NEW Stolen Throne CALL TO ARMS! I doubt I’ll be spinning this much in the unknowable future, but I didn’t hate being shellacked by these neanderthal tunes and I don’t feel significantly dumber now than I did going in. It’s not likely to convert many into Jungle Rot fiends, but by their own standards, the writing here is solid enough. I’ll admit to having low expectations coming into A Call to Arms, and what I got is a very predictable but mildly entertaining platter of caveman death splatter with a few standout moments. Twenty-five years in, it’s clear that Jungle Rot are the Sodom of death metal, but with much less evolutionary potential than their German brethren. It ain’t setting any trends or breaking new ground, but it’s better than disco and it will get you modest gainz on leg day, brah. Their playing reminds me of Pro-Pain and long-forgotten 80s battle thrashers, At War, and that’s probably why I have a soft spot for their never-changing schtick. Some of their minimalist little flourishes are fun and stand out too. They are masters of the bro-groove and they plow that field with admirable zeal. Sure, Dave’s bellow is meaner and more deathy, but the Rindness is ever-present and I’m forever expecting him to start screaming about the “American Way.” Chug meisters James Genenz and Geoff Bub shake their groove makers with fervor, injecting massive doses of beef and brawn in lieu of grey matter. The thing that always strikes me when I hear Jungle Rot is how much Dave Matrise sounds like Sacred Reich’s Phil Rind. It won’t be the most original 33 minutes you’ve heard, but it will jiggle your brain Jimmies plenty. Luckily, A Call to Arms is a scant 33 minutes, which alleviates wear and tear and should allow the average knuckledragger to blast through the album before terminal mind rot sets in. It’s fair to say that whatever 3-5 cuts were randomly placed in front would fare best, as there’s a real fatigue factor in play when Jungle running. It’s not so much that cuts like “Maggot Infested” or “Haunting Future” are bad, but there’s only so much of this style one can take before it all starts to sound the same. After the last chugs of angry chug-runner 1 “Vengeance and Bloodlust” fade into the distance, the Jungle Rot juice begins to show its age and inherent limitations. In all honesty, it isn’t until the album’s halfway point that the quality starts to wobble. The rowdy punch drunkness of “Genocidal Imperium” is also hard to turn up your nose at because sometimes dumb is good fun. The extra urgent “Beyond the Grave” is like Pro-Pain doing death metal after a few too many boilermakers, and “Asymmetrical Warfare” is a surprisingly spry cut that will absolutely pulverize fools in a live setting. What else can we really ask of a song of this ilk? And there are a few equally thyroid-harassing anthems in store for the rotted. It’s pure 90s death-groove and it’ll make you want to slam your head against the wall and throw your buds into a wood chipper before you buckle down to that deadlift routine you read about on. It’s the exact same song the band’s been flogging forever and believe it or not, it still kinda works. It’s ham-fisted and brain dead, but damn if it won’t get your head bobbing as that Sacred Reich on bath salts sound erupts anew. There’s a loveably troglodyte reliability to what Jungle Rot deliver, and the opening title track is an enjoyably dumb slab of dodo death. Before we get started, does anybody want to get out? Too late!ĭon’t get me wrong. It’s a recipe as old as Steel, and Jungle Rot see no reason to tinker with this formula fatal to the flesh. If you paid any attention to what the band’s been cooking over the last few decades, you know what their latest has to offer – fat grooves, simplistic song structures, war and/or murder-themed lyrics, and more chugs that a frat house on Saturday night. Eleventh album A Call to Arms is a rallying cry for those yet to see the value in their brand of low-brow, gym-friendly death with an IQ of 13. Since 1995 they’ve continued to bang out the most rudimentary death metal imaginable, perpetually aimed at that sickly sweet spot right between Obituary and meatheaded quasi-hardcore like Pro-Pain and Hatebreed. In the time of caveman death metal, Jungle Rot was a monkey.
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