You are going to want to listen to this album.
No beating-about-the-bush this time. A cynic might suggest that this is because I have just returned from Amsterdam and that my mind is still clouded by that cities numerous delights, I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions from this information. However the explanation that I offer is that Meta-Stasis have produced a record that does not, in any way, fuck about.
It is as heavy as a ton of tears encased in lead and as brutal as an alcoholic Step-Father. These are not Metaphors, this is real talk!
Meta Stasis come across as a sleek and focused British version of Slipknot. Except if the Iowans actually enjoyed Death Metal and let their DJ in on the creative process. I haven’t made this comparison simply because of its ease of comprehension, but because Meta-Stasis write songs with a exploratory sense of inclusiveness. This ability to experience the darker emotions and mould them with validity into crushing yet catchy tracks, reminded me of what it felt like to listen to Slipknots visceral first album.
This Brighton based 6 piece have mixed a cocktail, which on paper should confuse the mind with the sheer number of styles which it includes. But through the virtuous writing of highly addictive songs they are able to pull off an audacious level of successful stylistic fusion.
Metanoia is an intricately fabric woven from thick ropes. With layers revealing themselves only when one stops jumping around to its infectious grooves and starts listening intently. The members of Meta Stasis are an experienced bunch and they have brought the weight of this knowledge to bare on the construction of this, their 2nd album. Eviscerating Death Metal blasts bleed into angsty Nu-Metal rivers; while consistently maintaining a hard driving Tech dance-ability.
That they have made an album which manages to be searingly heavy and face twistingly listenable, is nothing short of annoying. Please don’t misunderstand. I mean annoying solely for myself. Since finding genuine faults with a record that sounds like a perfectly mixed set from the worlds most Metal DJ, is an unlimited source of palpable frustration.
Everything on this record seems to exist to provide either momentum or emotional charge, leaving one shattered but delighted as it reaches its tumultuous conclusion. The drums are febrile and pound in a way that makes the tendons protrude from the neck; shifting from downwind blasts to sitting underneath layered dance grooves; with impressive and intuitive tom work glueing it all together.
You like riffs? Well there are quite a few here. Mostly hewn from the fertile soil that exists between Machine Head and Inferi. These are the kind of riff whose power and lifeblood comes from their lapel-gripping insistence more than their fashionableness.
It is this slant away from fashion in favour of effectiveness which should mark Metanoia as an album worthy of your time and if you are feeling traditional, your money as well. As this is not a record which asks anything of you except ears and a functioning adrenal gland. Its a record to fuck shit up to.* To drink to and revel in a brazen and simple type of enjoyment.
It may be slightly derivative, but just like good dance music just has to bang and make you feel good, Metanoia is utterly effective within its own parameters. Loud, angry and full of amphetamines, this record made me smile a lot and desperate for a night spent dancing and to be honest, there aren’t many nicer things I could say.
*You should only ever fuck your own shit up. The Circle Pit will not be liable if you destroy your Mum’s collection of ceramic figurines in a fit of over-enthusiastic Moshing.
– John Whitmore