Soaker was formed in New York City. Their self-titled EP is both a distillation of their ferocious live set, and an expansion of scope. Part punk, part noise rock, part art-damaged sludge metal, this is a record that suggests elements of Flipper’s Generic, Dope Body, and the gothic bombast of The Birthday Party. Fittingly, Soaker’s debut vinyl release was produced by Carson Cox of Merchandise/Death Index who has recorded many like-minded punk and noise acts like Cult Ritual and Dads (to name just a few).
Here, Soaker feast on contrast; they are equal parts reckless exuberance and relentless nihilism, militant precision and sprawling chaos. Heaving inside Cox’s visceral, claustrophobic production, the rhythm section of Monteiro and Dorenfeld pound at the gut, powering the songs with a fierce, unstoppable energy – a throwback to their formative years in Boston’s hardcore scene. Around this, Stockdale’s guitar churns and bends, dueling with his own arresting vocals that are equal parts staff sergeant and werewolf. Elsewhere, feedback eddies, dogs bark and noise disintegrates into itself. But despite the darkness and the disaffection, this is an album to be played loud, in a room full of people, at the knife-edge between excitement and aggression.