Album of the Month: February '16
Death Index
‘Death Index’
Deathwish
Yes yes yes!
Carson Cox, daytime crooner for art-Pop behemoths Merchandise, is one half of the gloom-punk duo Death Index, along with his Italian cohort and multi-instrumentalist Marco Rapisarda. The self-titled debut LP by Death Index is a no nonsense affair that aims to punish the senses and sooth the fray.
If you happen to enjoy short blasts of gloomy hardcore or moody Deathrock, then stop reading this shit and go get the album. As a fan of short songs, goth, and above all else harboring a serious man-crush on the handsome Cox, Death Index is an absolute delight (which only furthers the infatuation).
Death Index is more in line with Cox’s early days playing storage locker shows in the local Tampa hardcore scene, only darker, brooding, and more confident. The group’s debut makes for an interesting dynamic, with Cox applying his inflicted croon atop noisy and brutally apt soundscapes.
As much as Cox claims to hate Morrissey, he once again channels that unmistakable phrasing of the lauded singer (which isn’t as easy as it may seem). It’s so distinct in fact, that Death Index may as well be Moz’s long lost punk album.
The songs that comprise the album rarely give you a chance to breathe, let alone the chance to tire of them, which in today’s hyper accelerated culture is saying something.
The Rundown (which’ll be as short as the songs):
“Fast Money Kill” bursts the outta the gate with thrash riffs and brutal blasts, while Cox lays the croon on thick. Before you know it, the fucker’s done.
Early single “Dream Machine” is a Deathrock chugger, with Cox’s voice haunting you from a distance. “The Meal” brings some gloomy menace, martial beats, and a trance like Cox.
“Fuori Controllo” is a :42 blast of hardcore fury, no frills, the end. Behold the lurching slab of groovy gloom in the form of “FUP.”
“Little ‘n’ Pretty” is a bruising exercise in Punk 101 that manages to eclipse the 2 minute mark (just barely). The album takes a turn into gothier electro territory on the pulsing post-punk of “Lost Bodies” which finds our boy Cox in hushed tones and emoting over a minimally sinister bed.
“We’ve Got A Number” immediately returns to the noisier heart of the album in a manageable clip, recalling a Misfits mid song gear shifting power push.
“JFK” is all rumbled doom, featuring a narco drawl and tempo crawls. The record closes with “Patto Con Dio” literally taking up a quarter of the LP’s run time by extending its Deathrock march past the 7 minute mark.
Death Index’s debut album rarely relents and blasts through its existence with maximum effect. Marco Rapisarda’s arrangements are the perfect foil for Cox’s croon and the two make for an inspired duo.
Cox has one of those voices you long to hear and one in which can change the dynamics of any project he’s involved in. With Merchandise’s further (and welcomed) immersion into damaged art-Pop, it’s a treat to spend time with Cox in a more brutal setting and the singer only furthers himself as this era’s most iconic frontmen by exploring countless depths.
From blasts of punk, to flourishes of goth; Death Index’s debut LP is one of brutality and laser focus.