Continuing to move away from the gnarly grindcore of their 2003 debut, You Won't Get What You Want sees Providence, Rhode Island's Daughters unleashing an unholy torrent of no-wave, post-punk, and experimental noise rock that's as spellbinding as it is uncompromising. Their fourth studio long player and first collection of new material in a decade, the 11-track set bristles with intent, pitting discord against momentary flashes of distressed beauty and fractured melody. Daughters particular brand of cacophony has always ...
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Continuing to move away from the gnarly grindcore of their 2003 debut, You Won't Get What You Want sees Providence, Rhode Island's Daughters unleashing an unholy torrent of no-wave, post-punk, and experimental noise rock that's as spellbinding as it is uncompromising. Their fourth studio long player and first collection of new material in a decade, the 11-track set bristles with intent, pitting discord against momentary flashes of distressed beauty and fractured melody. Daughters particular brand of cacophony has always contained multitudes, but You Won't Get What You Want stares harder and longer into the abyss than previous outings did, and in doing so, manages to tease out sonic tension from the farthest reaches of the void. Formidable cuts like "City Song," "The Flammable Man," and "Satan in Wait" (the latter of which arrives via a wall of six-string sirens and an icy, elliptical melody line invoking Scandinavian black metal by way of the Jesus Lizard), balance industrial clamor and minimalism with significant aplomb. Alexis Marshall's shift from tonsil-bruising death growls to a clean, but considerably weathered vocal style continues to pay dividends -- imagine a severely agitated Matt Berninger from the National fronting Converge -- as does the band's predilection for pairing fractured, blast furnace-forged beats with keyboards that sound like they're being broadcast from deep space. Aptly named, You Won't Get What You Want is awash with hopelessness, but each battery acid-stained note and room-clearing clang is delivered with the resigned ferocity of a cornered beast. In looking to capture the ugliness of humanity and parse through the despair that slithers malevolently in its wake, Daughters have crafted their most vital outing to date. ~ James Christopher Monger, Rovi
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