Emmure - Slave to the Game review

Year : 2012
Genre : Teenager Pop, Deathcore
Label : Victory
Origin : United States
Rating : 6.5 / 10

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Your favorite latex gimp music critic GyZ certainly should loath this delivery on paper, yet, the latest Emmure outing is not nearly as tolling of a release that I anticipated it to be based on the teenager methamphetamine-pop cover art. Take heed and bear witness to the fact that there are virtual Photoshop scratches on the image, implying that this particular disc is the ONE and ONLY your 12 year old daughter won't EVER forget to pack with her baggage when en route to a camp site, so she and Co. can safely cry to their Emmure in the tent, Knowing and Embracing the Ultimate Meaning of All Pain.

I will be the first to admit that the vocals on this disc got me into a Faith No More "Evidence" mode, because, frankly, "I didn't fee-eeel a thing" about them. There is a disturbed-ass metalcore monkey giving you the usual bonobo style shrieking misery, - you might want to approach him with an umbrella - and a death metal "vocillist" who sounds like a butcher being slaughtered by a were-pig. FUCK, yeah!! In other words : just the usual everyday average attention-seeking teen pop suicide-banter, yet, fortunately not as obnoxiously and disgustingly done as it is done by Attack! Attack!'s front-product Caleb Slomo - a business man who is marketing his faked nervous breakdowns - who needs to be put into a carbonite cassette Han Solo style, then the cassette needs to be subjected to Tesla's shrinking ray, then the product needs to be cloned on a subatomic level and needs to be marketed as ice dessert on Tatooin. Without further adieu, read on to find out more about Emmure's latest declaration, Slave to the Game.


The contribution is a relatively passable offering in the musical department, and I mean the term "passable" by the strongest possible - oops - terms. It won't harm you at all if you tamely subject yourself to the decent guitar work that sucks on the anus of your deathcore expectations like there is no tomorrow, and you won't be missing out on a single nano-second of utterly relevant stimuli if you skip this disc entirely. I know, this sounds to be a rather evil thing to say, so I will try to justify that this is not the route I'm coming from. Emmure submits subserviently to the shape of music they think they can sell, which exactly is what musicians do, you know?

Artist = a person who sells the music she/he makes.

Musician = a person who makes the music she/he can sell.

Emmure's Slave to the Game, - clap your hands to such a Freudian title, based on my previous notion - once again, is a passable, familly-and kid-safe deathcore release lasting for no more than it can claim a mild level of entertainment factor for, - 31+ minutes - since it utilizes this particular time interval to throw all metalcore and death metal platitudes towards your way, - minus the emo toy-choruses, thank God! - and it does it with unquestionable heft and admirable variety. Period. I dare say that the disc does not feature one single row of hooks worth imprinting to your psyche though, it is "just" a reasonably well varied mental-, and emotional inner image of metalcore and death metal. This is good for 5/10 so far. What I like about the release is its propensity to offer Meshuggah style riffcraft in characterology. Don't think in terms of warped time signatures and exotic Godzilla-anatomies, yet the affection is undoubtedly there when the cymbals give you the steady 4/4 with everything else seeking means to respectfully deviate. 5.5.

I'm not too keen with the production values of this one. Most of the time, the band sounds like a thrash metal act with second hand equipment they did not learn to use PROPER yet, while, on occasion, they sound relatively sloppy. The song "Cross Over Attack" is a good example of this, in my opinion. These guitars represent a puzzling sonic intersection between coffee grinder machine, full value white noise, and guitar sound with legit meat on it. This is one of the best releases of the year so far that fail to do a single thing with me.

Rating : 6.5 / 10

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