Deadlights – No Hope For The Lost

5.3/10

Some fruit, suffice it to say, aren’t ripe enough to eat. You plant the tree, you nurture the bitch, the fruit sprout, and yet still somehow you gotta wait. Don’t be fooled musicians of today, this is more than me just being a hungry bitch in plague times. Sometimes you see spots of ripening on the skin, but when you bite into the product, it still isn’t ready yet and it’s bitter fuckin produce that I just endured for a week prepping for this review. Meet Deadlights (Yes, if you just search them, you’ll find a trove of bands of the same name) out of Medicine Hat, AB, and their latest attempt No Hope For The Lost. Now that we’re all acquainted, I believe you’ve all met my shitty fucking opinion before?

Deadlights ride the winds of deathcore best slung by Mitch Lucker era Suicide Silence featuring a little bit of Lamb of God grove and polyrhythm all tied together with that small town gusto and desire we know love. Indeed this act brings enthusiasm and deep desire to recreate their favourite act’s discographies in their own image, and yes, they do a half decent job for the most part. Where at times their songs feel over influenced, this is usually easily quelled with some bell or whistle of their own to mask it. This record on the other hand has some unmistakable faux pas that I can’t help but call out.

For any ragtag metalhead looking for a fresh soul to consume, No Hope For The Lost is absolutely a banger. That being said, there are some bitternesses that only further ripening can really quell. First and foremost, the guitar tones absolutely require some greasing as the combination of this and the high frequency screams used in the vocal section only lead to eventual headache. Not necessarily nails on a chalkboard bad, but prolonged exposure tends to lend to questionable use of heads and pedals at hand (my bet would be more “affordable” end gain heavy solid state heads which I’d be more than happy to hear I’m wrong about). Next on the list of my asshole thoughts would be vocal arrangements and unfortunately the eternal bane of a great many deathcore bands attempting to diversify, clean vocals.

Both opening tracks in “Deadlights” (yes another band named their opening track after their band, at least the album isn’t ALSO called Deadliglhts) and “Spiral of Vanity” stay the path of brutality for the most part, keeping matters of shrieking and slamming at the utmost importance. Then enter third track “Remnant” where at roughly one minute and thirty seconds is the first of several prime examples of why it is so fucking insurmountably important that you sing in your own range. Everybody wants the pitchy fucking angelic crap and forget that strength in a note is not in its height but in its consistency. In this case, unfortunately, pitchy as all fucking hell, but nothing that can’t be fixed.

Aside from what seem like two small points, every other I is dotted and T crossed. Drum sections and of the utmost pleasurable and mixing could honestly be a whole lot fucking worse. Ripen the fuckin fruit a little goddamn more and make the investment in making your tones yours. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got plague times to endure. 

Written by Jason Greenberg
*Edited by Dominic Abate

About Jason Greenberg 172 Articles
On the first day, the Lord said "Let there be Bucketlist," and all of human kind then became aware of the incredulity or abysmally flaccid result on their attempt at Art. On the second day, the Lord said "Jason, go review that show you're going to on Friday," and begrudgingly, a review was made. What the world was for Jason Greenberg before that point is either completely unimportant or mildly pornographic, but the world of today after many years of serving his Queen has brought him opportunity, hardship, and a whole lot of Bucketlist patches on indiscriminate pieces of clothing. You may see him lugging your band's equipment and yelling at you aimlessly about the useless construct of time. You may see him expelling a noise not fully understood by humankind at the end of a microphone. You may even see him swimming in an ocean of poutine, but you will always see him as his true self, a sentient and obnoxious Bucketlist Music Reviews Billboard.

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