There were complications in birth, but the child survived.
The thumbnail description of a five-piece Long Island hardcore band with metal influences is enough to make any jaded scenester shrug their shoulders in apathy, but, when applied to Anterrabae, this belies something greater. The 3 song demo, recorded with Steve Carniol (From Autumn to Ashes, Overthrow) is not a routine exercise in hardcore listening. The songwriting is creative, and does not fall back on the routine 'verse-chorus-verse-chorus-buildup-breakdown-chorus' that many acts rely on. The demo is a begninners guide to existentialism, at times songs drift into dwelling melodies only to drop into breakdowns as big as cathedrals. Anterrabae produces something ineffable; from that grit your teeth here it comes feeling, to the tranquility of a drug induced coma. Sometimes Anterrabae smells like flowers. Sometimes Anterrabae smells like a kick in the face. There is no escaping the honesty of their lyrics. They are a journal entry plucked from the pages of someone who converts bad experience into life experience. When words show me places I have never seen while instilling a sense of deja vu, I smile. These words make me smile.
The live show is the essence of Anterrabae. The drumming (Chris Gleason) is precise, and articulate. The guitars (Matt Gorton, Joey Spagna, Ryan Poelker) are big when they want to be, small when they need to be. When he (Neal Carter) screams it's because he is screaming, not because screaming is hardcore.
This child has grown, but never too big for the local scene. The nationwide liquidation and saturation of hardcore will not swallow and shit Anterrabae like it has others. Anterrabae is anti-rock.