Neon lights flicker in the dystopian alleyways of Angerland’s latest single, “Neon Dead”—a discordant symphony that rattles your ribcage with the existential dread Stalin might wink at. Here, this London quartet—pilgrims in the wasteland of Thrash marinated soundscapes à la Killing Joke and Ruts DC—shuffle through our desensitized society’s graveyard.
The sonic storm begins subtly; a bass line slinks around your thoughts like a stranger on a dim street corner before erupting into an electric scream as guitars collide against drums like old gods clashing over barren Earth. Each chord strummed by these musical anarchists is a cry, muffled by the crowd’s colossal indifference to tragedy multiplied—a million whispers swallowed by history.
“Neon Dead,” teems with gritty lyrics sewn into pounding beats; it’s an auditory canvas splattered black and purple with bursts of glaring neon green. Angerland conjures images darker than night yet vivid as dawn breaking over Chernobyl. It doesn’t ask for attention—it claws it from you, demanding reflection on what makes us nod sleepily to endless calamities streamed directly into our veins via nightly news feeds.
This cacophony cradled by Mike Coles’ kaleidoscopic nightmare in its music video thickens the plot still dripping wet from stark horror inkwells used generously throughout their burgeoning discography leading toward their debut album.
In summary: Neon candles snuffed out one after another until none are left burning—not asking if we noticed but screaming because we didn’t listen closely enough.
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