The NYC hardcore punk scene is always a thriving, dynamic place, but in the last few years, the city’s music, as exemplified by labels like Katorga Works and Toxic State, has been in a real renaissance. The DIY spaces of Brooklyn are producing top-notch examples of everything from terse and violent classic hardcore to noisy mutant slop-core to goth/industrial-influenced but no less raging deathpunk. Now, releasing their debut full-length Kanizadi after countless shows and a few demos and EPs, we can add to this growing list of coexisting micro-genres… whatever the hell La Misma is!
The four-piece really does stand apart from a lot of their contemporaries. The anthemic melodic guitar leads, rumbling, distorted bass, and rousing, pogo-friendly drumming bring to mind more of a UK82 sound, with tempo changes, starts and stops, and a general looseness that give you the sense that everything could go off the rails at any given second. But what really sets them apart are the emotive, high-energy vocals (sung in Portuguese) of Nay Vieira-Rosario, one of the many luminaries in the NYC underground with roots right here in the Boston scene.
There’s a sort of caffeinated, manic energy to Kanizadi which is a welcome counterpoint to the more aggressive, masculine energy a lot of hardcore bands exude. Don’t get me wrong, this music is aggressive. It’s still a hardcore punk record, with nine tracks of noise-drenched anger blasting by in just over 20 minutes, but it’s an emotive, direct and honest anger. No posturing here. Just pure release. You might not be able to understand what Nay’s saying, but you will definitely be able to understand what she’s feeling, and those emotions are powerful enough to transcend the language barrier.
Kanizadi is available now from Toxic State and La Vida Es En Mus. If you’re in Brooklyn next weekend, or can get there, be sure to check out the impeccably booked Chameleons Vox show at The Wick, where La Misma will open for the UK legends alongside Anasazi, Pleasure Leftists, and Survival. That lineup is stacked to the damn ceiling.