“I think getting back together would take the lid off…and possibly change what to me [seemed] like the perfect lifespan [for] the band. I can’t think of any reason to mess with that.”

The above would be a short extract of Cornell’s statement just a good three years ago, post the disbanding of Seattle-based Soundgarden. From a group that had coalesced from the tiny bits and pieces of the Shemps, a.k.a. the cover band they first formed as, they treaded musical grounds much vaster than your average radio single popper (let alone local cover band). Taking shape within the movement and subculture of grunge as it were, the band graced fans with the psychedelic-meets-metal canvas of Ultramega OK and the equally somber compositions on Superunknown. “They came, they saw, they conquered:” a cliché adage that would wrap up the career path of these cats pretty well, until that sad day when the band parted ways and the craptastic tunes otherwise known as Chris Cornell’s solo work began to fill the airwaves.

Years passed, and Soundgarden’s singles slowly climbed the billboards; little did I know, two years old at the time and observing the inverted colors and trippy camera work of “Jesus Christ Pose” on my television screen, that this band would become a sonic staple in my own life. Come middle-school, when I grew out of the manufactured auditory garbage otherwise known as Linkin Park, I began to confide in such introspective, Cornellian lyrics as, “down in the hole, Jesus tried to crack a smile / beneath another shovel load.”

The emotional connection with music that bands like Soundgarden fostered in me only catalyzed my ascent into the world of heavy metal. What’s more was my frustration that I’d picked up Superunknown a bit too late, that I’d been born in the wrong decade: discovering the band so late as to merely be able to catch Chris Cornell live, solo (a snippet off of the original package: yes, the original package – Soundgarden – who’d been playing the stages of NYC while I was twiddling my thumbs, frying a few dozen neurons in an SAT exam room, circa spring 2006…That horrible day when the band decided that they, as so eloquently described by Cornell, had reached their last creative half-life.)

All of this seemingly melodramatic textual buildup, for me to happily type into this Microsoft word screen that Soundgarden has reunited. So, least to say that my regrets of my late conception, prolonged exposure to crappy pop music, etc., all significantly abated.

So, for now, I’m going to flip off my skepticism (of the members’ old ages and Chris’ recent musical track record) to rejoice in this.

Based out of Auckland, otherwise known as a small pocket in New Zealand, Ulcerate is a band that has inflamed the scene much further than its Australian home. Initially formed as Bloodwreath by guitarist Michael Hoggard, the band has come a long way, having shared the stages with some of my personal favorites: Psycroptic, Decapitated, Suffocation, and Behemoth. Beyond their impressive touring track record, the band’s 2009 release, Everything is Fire, got a globally positive response, having been ranked as one of metalreview.com’s 100 Most Essential Albums of the Decade. Band glories aside, more on the album:

“Drown Within” kicks off the album with steadily progressing, down-tuned guitars, guttural vocals, and tons of double-bass: producing a traditional, Suffocation-meets-early-Morbid-Angel death metal feel. Amidst the brutality, “We Are Nil” and “The Earth at its Knees” keeps us on our toes, with guitar parts that are mindblowingly fast and technical, bringing to mind the inhumane technicality of Origin’s “Wrath of Vishnu.” There are multiple guitar parts, which respond to and layer one another with reasonable doses of whammy. The time signatures, which are constantly shifting, create rhythms that are complex and compel us to listen all the more closely.

While the band indeed ushers in concentrated doses of technicality and brutality, they do so without putting you to sleep. “Soullessness Embraced,” one of my favorites off of the record, is atmospheric, while retaining its heaviness. In “Caecus,” we encounter moments with melodic guitar parts that drift off beneath the slower-paced drum parts and toned down vocals: calling to mind bands as Isis and Agalloch. These atmospheric segments lend the songs an emotive, introspective feel rarely encountered in modern death metal records, and it is an element that the band incorporates as precisely as the most technical parts of tracks like “Withered and Obsolete.” The instruments function symbiotically, feeding one another to create an explosive quality that the vocals only elevate.

You can’t listen to a 30 second chunk of any track on this record and predict what the rest of it will sound like; each song is intricate and unabashed in its composition – refreshing as hell, in a day where “br00tal,” mindless metal bands cancerously replicate what’s already been done and played in the metal world.

Flipping through the heavy metal stacks of CDs at our neighborhood record store, it would have been easy for me to overlook Clean Hands go Foul, the 2009 release by Khanate. I flipped the CD over, and beheld that not only is the band based out of New York City (fresh local metal matter), but that they are also not your typical underground group: this is an extreme doom metal outfit consisting of the pioneers of the genre – Stephen O’Malley, of Sunn O))) and Burning Witch fame, Tim Wyskida of Manbyrd and Blind Idiot God, as well as James Plotkin and Alan Dubin, of now disbanded OLD.

The album, released in early 2009, consists of seven tracks, with the shortest track clocking in at 6:48 and the longest at 32:51. For members of a genre that prides itself on lengthy, meticulously developed songs  a seven-track release is no small feat; one would wonder if such long songs would risk loss of structure or coherence. Starting with “Wings from Sprine,” the band proves otherwise. The song presents us with noise-driven, machine-like clicks and distressed vocals, calling to mind Axis of Perdition-like experiments with sound. Guitars screech lethargically, creating friction against the torturous vocals of Alan Dubin.

This lethargy is demonized by the melancholic guitar parts of “In that Corner,” which produce melodies that quickly decay into (seemingly) random, low-tuned noise. Reacting in the solvent of the dissonant riffs are pendulum beats, echoing off in the distance in “Release,” which effectively induce feelings of desolation and solitude. In this desolation, we are caught off guard by the simultaneously peaceful and foreboding church bells of “Every God Damn Thing.” Following this moment of repose, the band casts listeners back into mental chaos with “German Dental Work,” as performed live, on WFMU; it is here that each instrument takes on a monstrous presence. Ultimately, each song plays an integral function in creating the sinister character that seems to lurk beneath the record as a whole. It is this presence that invokes the sounds of a subconscious, in whose treachery and animalistic rage we find beauty and catharsis.

If you’re into noise-driven anything, be it metal or industrial music, Clean Hands go Foul is your quick fix.

In the closet-sized performance room of the radio station, I got some one-on-one bonding time with the band, recording their 30 minutes on the air. Amidst the claustrophobia of four metal dudes (and their gear) in a small room, listeners were cast into the raw aggression and haunting ambiance of “Chapter Hell: Part II (Prisoner),” which, at the 1:45 mark, catapulted itself into complete rhythmic frenzy. With the wall of atonal guitar riffs, marked by the traces of minor melodies, the drum parts effectively established a rhythmic duet: delivering beats that were fast, without sounding triggered. The bass lines were prominent, bold yet well-complemented by the steady drum beats. All of these elements collided to form the sonic medium through which Forrest delivered his vocals: visceral growls that called to remembrance the horrors of biological warfare, zombies, and the human destructive impulse. Though a better part of their songs start with modest tempos, Shiro Ishii quickly shoves them into a furious pace that absolutely compels those listening to headbang. The band, currently on hiatus writing new material, keeps itself busy, saturating the New York metal scene with what’s fresh in grind and beyond, à la local hole-in-the-wall venues that permit. To hear their recorded in-studio performance, as well as brief post-set interview, visit the Hellhole archive at www.wnyu.org.