Band:	Iron Reagan
Album:	Worse Than Dead
Style:	Punk, Hardcore, Crossover thrash metal
Release date:	March 20, 2013
Guest review by:	Cynic Metalhead

01. Drop The Gun
02. Slightly Out Of Focus
03. I Predict The Death Of Harold Camping
04. Cycle Of Violence
05. Eyes Piss Tears
06. Insanity Plea(se)?
07. A Joke A Fraud A Fake
08. Rats In A Cage
09. We Know Your Hiding
10. Paycheck
11. Midlothian Murder Mile
12. The Debt Collector
13. I Ripped That Testament A New Asshole
14. Bodies
15. Eat Shit And Live
16. Two Examples
17. Snake Chopper
18. Warp Your Mind
19. Walking Out

In the hallowed halls of crossover thrash, where punk and metal enter a mosh pit at a demolition derby, Iron Reagan from Richmond, Virginia emerged in 2012 swinging a spiked bat at a hive of angry bees. In a year, out popped the debut album Worse Than Dead, a bastardized musical child of Slayer, Municipal Waste, and Suicidal Tendencies sloshed on Red Bull and Bulleit. It has no frills, filled with breakneck riffs after riffs after riffs with machine-gun drumming. This album feels like kicking you in the teeth so hard that you’ll be scrambling to find your dental insurance paperwork.

It's a 19-track, 25-minute raucous romp of crossover thrash metal where every song is an explosive burst of furious, filthy guitars cutting sharper than a rusted razor blade; the rhythms from Brunette are hostile, driving a high blood pressure sufferer to headbang. This is the kind of songwriting that gets straight to the point: no filler, all killer—just pure, unadulterated aggression. Lyrically, the album is a soothing mix of social commentary and outright absurdity, like “Eat Shit And Live” and “Cycle of Violence". Tony Foresta’s vocal delivery is unrelenting and belligerent, perfectly capturing the landscapes of the album.

When it comes to production, Worse Than Dead sounds like it was recorded in a dingy basement. The raw, unpolished sound gives an edge reminiscent of early hardcore punk, in times sounding like band was more interested in influencing us to cause a mosh pit whirlwind at the Grammys. The mix is deliberately rough around the edges, guitars are loud and gritty, the bass is thunderous, and the drums hit like a sledgehammer, just like my situation around the gf.

Worse Than Dead isn’t just an album—it’s a declaration of war on boredom, a sonic middle finger to complacency. In a world where thrash can sometimes take itself too seriously (d'oh!), Iron Reagan reminds us that the best way to deal with your shit is to stack up crates, crank the volume, bang your head, and scream like a schizophrenic motherfucker. In short, if you’re looking for an album that’s funnier than your last hangover and heavier than your uncle’s old Harley, Worse Than Dead is your divinity. Just make sure that you want to suffer from spontaneous moshing, stage-diving off your couch, and the overwhelming desire to tell everyone you meet to “Eat Shit And Live”; if so, go ahead and swing it.

Highlights: Whole Album.