Destrage is simultaneously mischievous and extraordinary, approaching its technical marvels with childlike curiosity.
Review by David Feltman
There’s an old adage about a thin line separating genius and insanity. If there’s any truth to that saying, then Destrage definitely fucking crossed that line. Hailing from Milan, this band is so talented, malleable and deranged that no genre or half-baked idea is out of reach. It feels like Destrage could do anything and that’s completely exhilarating.
Destrage’s sound is as experimental as Mr. Bungle and as chaotically carefree as Between the Buried and Me, but more math core than progressive in style. In the span of three-to-four minutes you are likely to encounter a classical acoustic intro, technical thrash shredding, catchy hard rock riffs, death metal cookie monster vocals, jazzy improv, a spaghetti-western breakdown and a melodic, carnival infused verse or two. But as crazily sophisticated as the music can be, there’s not a hint of pretension. Pointing it’s rhetorical album title directly at it’s fans, the LP sports tracks like “Hosts, Rifles and Coke” and “Waterpark Bachelorette,” while pondering in the lyrics whether it’s humane to kill zombies since they use to be human.
Listening to Destrage is like discovering a new species, some rare, strange bird that can fire lasers out of its adamantium razor beak. The band is simultaneously mischievous and extraordinary, approaching its technical marvels with childlike curiosity. The album does sag a bit in the middle, mostly due to the occasional, and unfortunate, dashes of nu-metal. But that’s like picking nits off of an adamantium laser hawk. There’s really not another band quite like Destrage.
