If your answer is either "Yes", "No", "Sometimes", or "I’m a flat-brimmed bruiser who hasn’t smiled since Despised Icon reformed in 2016"... you’re in for a hoot.
Because on To Rid Myself Of Truth, Signs Of The Swarm are most definitely not kidding around. At all. Which means this review will have to compensate and do all the clowning.
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
New Signs Of The Swarm, woo.
New Signs Of The Swarm woo-who?
Woohoo – glad to see you’re excited too!
But here’s the thing: Signs Of The Swarm are that ball-crushing kind of band who don’t bother with polite knock-knock etiquette. They just bust down your front door, wielding To Rid Myself Of Truth as a battering ram disguised as an album, redecorating your living room in drywall dust.
Formed in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, back in 2014, the band emerged marinated in the slam-death sound of those times. Despite surviving more personnel shake-ups than your local Starbucks, that influence still snakes through their DNA six albums later. With this new record – following yet another major line-up change – the band takes a bold step forward in their musical journey, incorporating more djent-infused elements, while preserving the essence of what’s always made them unique.
Why is deathcore the most eco-friendly genre out there?
Because they like to BREEEEEEEE-cycle their material.
But all that green energy quickly rots into pitch-black filth. Let’s break it down (ha!): To Rid Myself Of Truth slaps harder than a wet towel in a high school locker room. This is a band fully aware of their strengths, leaning all the way in. Even if no one’s handing out medals for originality in deathcore anytime soon.
Deathcore is often considered hit or miss. Signs Of The Swarm are more like hit after hit after hit, knocking "miss" right out of the park. On this album, the band identifies as dynamite (pronouns: Boom/Blast). Every track detonates. An explosion of deathcore flavour. Scorched-earth approach. But that’s pretty much all there is to it.
Why do deathcore musicians get a free microwave when they buy new gear?
So they can reheat the same dish again and again.
Also true for Signs Of The Swarm. Except they nuke the entire kitchen while they’re at it. Their seismic breakdowns, capable of crumbling your whole world to fire and ash, have become their Michelin-starred trademark signature dish. Served hotter than Satan’s barbecue.
Signs Of The Swarm take the "all gas, no brakes" approach with utterly, unimaginably unhinged vocals, and crushing blast beats that can turn moshpits into demolition derbies. Jab, hook, uppercut, knock-out, and done. The production is polished enough to make it all feel massive and colossal, but raw enough to rattle your teeth fillings.
If anything, consider this review to be your gentle (OK, perhaps not-so-gentle) poke in the ribs that it’s about damn time to unleash your inner Miley Cyrus... and embrace the wrecking ball that is To Rid Myself Of Truth. Let it break down (ha!) your wall of prejudice, and cozy you up to Signs Of The Swarm, who've seemingly leveled up with every release.
One last one, just to get it out of our system. Why are deathcore fans into birdwatching?
Because Signs Of The Swarm really are the tits.
