Dead Brain Cells

“…deeper and deeper you sink into his darkness…”

With the bad milk smell of self-prognosis leering over this thing like a hungry vulture, I approached Dead Brain Cells with cold, dread-dragged feet. Yep, just as I feared the album was self-titled, cruelly arming this new four-piece from Montreal with a moniker that was simultaneously denouncing, undermining, and trite, as if the vision of metal being accepted as a serious musical style didn’t have enough woes to hurdle. I’ve always wondered why bands blatantly aim for their foot like this. DBC’s one of ‘em. Were they so secure in their local standing that they thought people outside their narrow geographic would gaze upon their magnitude-eroding name and typical skull sleeve and gravitate toward the thing like it was a new Blizzard PC game? Guess they did, and more than likely it’s this faulty first impression that often stalled the band’s scene status at the Canadian border. That’s what some of us who care chalk it up to, anyway. Faulty first impression? Uh huh. Faulty because the visuals – initialed name and inactive artwork – were hamstringed right out of the gate and what could be seen hobbling down the track was a gazeless, everyday George Romero ghoul - nominally scary, not very original, and easily evaded. It wouldn’t be until it was close enough for us to smell its fetid breath that we realized it was actually driven by a virile, headstrong, and perceptive bluster that deserved a better fate than being shot at the end of the race with the rest of the losers. Unfortunately by then many spectators had already hit the road.

So what’s often received by the masses is a debut painted as a flat black, straight and narrow bruiser that once in a while swings a dark gray, crossover left hook; a viable interpretation if you’re just passing by, but not very insightful. Slow down for a better whiff. You’ve already paid the admission fee, so what’s the hurry? Sure, while “Lies”, “Outburst”, “Final Act”, and most of “Power and Corruption” glow tumultuously with a similar description, it’s the others that have seen more of the painter’s tray. Not the whole thing, but only part of it.

“Public Suicide” and “M.I.A.” are privy to more dramatic, progressively-minded hues that may not ring as bright as some of the more recognized artists in the field, but in that area these tunes conquer the others on the lp without much trouble save for “Tempest”, a song that tightwalks the tint of fairly sharp and melodic tech-thrash. If velocity is black in nature, then “Terrorist Mind”, “The Vice”, and “Trauma X” are yin-yanged with a white side of heavy-striding mid-pace and grody, deliberate doomstep. Phil Dakin’s vox fits the bill with a craggy, inhospitable tone that’s as translucent and water color-based as pine tar.

In addition, things aren’t what they seem musically. While dirty and deadly speed is always heating on some nearby burner and solos are few and far between, it’s during the more resourceful dignity of these aforementioned tracks that Eddie Shanini and Gerry Ouellette can claim a corner of the gallery as their own, a corner that would find some better illumination in a few years.

Within half a spin, Dead Brain Cells shed its spoiled dairy spoor and squashed most of my fear, and by the aptly-titled “Final Act” it was pretty clear these thirteen tracks had done more than grunt themselves though the uncurving, street-level path to thrash’s second tier. No, this thing breathed easier despite its flat-looking nose, and to coincide with this unexpected respiration, DBC saw more hang time above the common and crowded C-grade avenue. It also refilled the paint rack for Universe, a follow-up brushed with broader, more involved strokes.

Realistically, there were worse bands with better imagery that went about as far or less.

A then-relatively unknown Randy Burns produces this thickly.