Virtual Insanity
Hello, my friends and welcome to our insane, messed up lives, not wanting to make light of mental illness, but right now things are pretty damn bleak. So, let’s bring Year Of The Knife into the fore and share our ‘Internal Incarceration’, remember friends that even before lockdown, we were already imprisoned by work, social, familial responsibilities and expectations. The very nature of being human brings with it countless responsibilities, these can become burdensome and overwhelming if not dealt with in a balanced and fair manner. The end result is hatred, anger and resentment, sometimes misguided, leading to a self-imposed imprisonment away from it all. All things considered our rock fraternity have always been there to provide clarity, companionship and hope.
A cut-throat and revolutionary stance is adopted by YOTK as they traverse wildly, hurtling over land and sea to bring us this obstacle course of an album, that will test us to our limits and beyond. From the start it is a fireworks extravaganza, brazen and loud, boldly lighting up the parts no one wants to see. The slightly deranged ‘Virtual Narcotic’ sees the band shaving their knuckles on a cheese grater advancing through Francis Bacon territory with images reminiscent of his crazed artwork. There is a beauty in the madness, not everyone will get it, but those who do will cherish this for the rest of their lives. The single ‘Manipulation Artist’ continues where Annihilator’s ‘Psycho Ward’ left off and all abusers need to heed this warning. Society plays the blame game and leaves the victims with nowhere to turn. The lyric ‘taking a stab and hiding your hands’ is typical of abusive behaviour, these venal beings are astute at turning a situation on its head so they are the victim and the real victim is left hanging in the air.
The band are skilful in their musicianship, displaying integrity when capitalising on our anxieties, an honourable record from a hungry for justice, hardcore outfit. The line-up is familial, except for singer Tyler Mullen, we have guitar/bass husband and wife team of Brandon and Madison Watkins, twins Aaron and Andrew Kisielewski on guitar and drums, respectively. They are taut – physically and mentally- and it shows in the agility of the fretwork and the booming basslines and devastating drums that cut through flesh, sinew and bone effortlessly.
With ‘Through The Eyes’ and ‘Sick Statistic’ we take a peek into the life of an addict, sadly drugs are a deep-rooted problem, easy to fall into but so difficult to give up. The breakdown at 2.23 leading into the ‘fix me’ outro vibrates around your head, echoing madly, eating away at your brain.
This cauldron is on a rolling boil, gathering up all the anxiety, anger and animosity on its way, with the aim of ridding our lives of this negativity. Offer yourself up to its urgency and start to feel less afraid, less angry and far more balanced and break the shackles of your incarceration. It’s time to filter all the debris and detritus, this is a detox for the darklings.
Year Of The Knife – Internal Incarceration out 7th August via Pure Noise Records
The Knifemare Before Christmas.
A time for peace on Earth and goodwill to all, but what happens when hostility, power and dominance are the order of the day? When the thirst for control is overwhelming, their truculence knows no bounds, disobedience and resistance are intolerable. Persecution lives in our society, it does not discriminate; crossing all faiths, races, ages and genders, it doesn’t care. Abuse in all its forms is abhorrent in the very least, hurtful, inciting terror and panic.
The year was 2017, unassuming as it was, the tail end however was a completely different story. Living in a modern-day oppression, there were no bombs or guns in this place, just verbal bullets of anger, humiliation, manipulation, and gaslighting. I lived in a barren wasteland, a hinterland not of my making, but slowly constructed over time and space to secure my attention and focus within a contained arena. Societal mores comprised of twisted ideals, a perversion of right and wrong and a basic hatred of women which all culminate in a dastardly enterprise, but one that sadly dwells in our world. I endured it because of the promise of better days, meanwhile there was no living, only surviving, I hung in there for culture and honour and more crucially because these people are a law unto themselves, they don’t care much to being told what to do, leaving them above reproach. Hope was my friend, but also my enemy, it left a light on that things would improve. How much more belittling and embarrassment can one person take?
I spent my days licking my mental wounds, I cooked, I cleaned, I was lost, alone and trapped. Then the day arrived, my entirety, physical, mental, emotional was pulled out by the roots and thrown high into the stratosphere and left there with nowhere to land. It took six months for some of my pieces to slowly descend to Earth, they were found by a good Samaritan who was unaware of my chaotic life. Unbeknownst to them, they offered me shelter from the storm that had consumed me, I remained in the quagmire as other factors were at play but suffice to say now it is an eat, work, sleep, scenario and yet within that mundane framework, I live. I am now heard, the relationship is broken yet intact, secured by cultural and familial bonds that are not easy to dismantle. Not that it matters because I accept the anachronistic values as par for the course, and my course is with him, but not with him as I forge my own road out of the devastation. The hate exists, it always will, but an energy is buzzing inside to move forward and leave behind those who cannot accept my emancipation. I would no longer drink the cocktail of warped and depraved notions served up in a poisoned chalice.
It was the eleventh hour, of the seventh day of the eleventh month. The year was 2017, my year of the knife.