We need Deathwank, not because they approach a Cure for What Ails Us, they don’t, they are ugly and cluttered and tired and disposable, their shock is numb and their crassness even larger than their ear-splitting racket. Deathwank play the music we deserve. It’s called Scumcore by the twisted, vomit-coated A&E regulars that play it. After listening to Deathwank for any amount of time, through several of their unidentifiable songs and their muddy everything-louder-than-everything-else production I feel dirty, like I need a scrub with carbolic soap. Any band that lists their top five influences as Death, Drugs, Pol Pot, David Koresh, and Yer Maw so clearly embodies a mid-central Scottish Generation-Why nihilism a certain breed of Scottish man can get behind. Filth encrusted pre-internet mid-nineties streets gave birth to us, and we were smart enough get into a university to avoid Blair’s oil wars, and not smart enough to make anything of the inevitable second and half our peers share cat videos like brainwashed people accepting their fate at the end of Soylent Green, and the other half diligently keep up with news and current affairs and thusly seem to spend all their time clutching their heads and crying.