Wet Nuns Self -Titled

September 16, 2013

Written by: Jason Ribadeneyra

Wet Nuns


Wet Nuns

Out October 9th on Throng of Knobs

The Wet Nuns are back and puking out their self titled album on Oct 9th on Throng of Knobs records. A testament to hard drinking recklessness, these songs drive ’till the wheels fall off. The record begins with “7 Year Itch”  a loud and proud Seattle channeling chunk of metal that gets things started off proper. The Nuns do bluesy, riff heavy aggression in the collapsed vein of Melvins and Corrosion of Conformity with a chaser of Stooges and Black Sabbath (fuck it, it has to be said.) This trend continues on the following track “No Death.” One of my favorite songs here, it would fit perfectly blaring out the windows of a pot pushers Camaro parked by a 7-11 on a Friday Night. Same goes for the blast of insanity which is “Broken Teeth.” 2:17 of perfect United Kingdom heavy metal made by two Jack Daniels damaged white guys who may or may not hold the record for weirdest band name in the game.

The vocals of singer/guitarist Trent are bluesy, kind of like if a blues singer had a cocaine head cold and they work best when the song is really blaring. They can sometimes get a little Louie Armstrong when left on their own but that’s not often. Definitely not during “Heavens Below”  which along with “Broken Teeth” is the quintessential Wet Nuns song. What really holds these tunes together is the bashings of drummer Alexis. Listen to “Throttle”, a high point on the record, and hear him at his best. There’s no “over doing it” for lack of a better term that some drummers in two-piece bands sometimes fall victim to. He knows how to drive a thrash riff as well as compliment a more subdued melody without question. Just a flat out incredible drummer. A common theme within the music of The Wet Nuns is the guitar and cymbal start offs as witnessed at the start of  the first four tracks. I enjoy this uniformed approach because… well, fuck I don’t know why but who cares anyways. It fucking works. This is a straight up gruncha-gruncha grrrr metal album that isn’t just copying the genre as much as progressing it. The music is no filler fun and when done right can elicit the craving to hold up a bank and/or smash a whiskey bottle over the dome of a club bouncer. Try to control yrself.

Jasen Ribadenera


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