In spite of kicking around the death metal scene since 1988, Chicago’s Broken Hope rarely get their due in underground circles. These wholesome, well-mannered Midwestern boys made good have often been unfairly labelled a lower-level band; granted, metal acts from this neck of the woods are often denied the props they deserve, but whether you like it or not, there’s no doubt that legions of brutal death metal, slam and goregrind practitioners owe something to Broken Hope’s lethal combination of ultra-guttural vocals, beyond gross-out lyrics and thick, bone-crunching grooves. Now, after almost a decade-and-a-half of silence, the influential quintet have returned with a rejuvenated lineup and a flesh-ripping album in the form of Omen of Disease.
At first listen, Broken Hope’s oldschool death metal might seem quaint in comparison to the ridiculously technical, uber-down-tuned bands they helped spawn, but with repeated spins it becomes evident that the band’s relative simplicity is its greatest asset. By sticking to their guns and not trying to out-brutalize or out-play their contemporaries, Broken Hope infuse their music with a catchy and varied approach not often heard within their chosen subgenre, and as a result create some of the most memorable brutal death metal I’ve come across in quite some time.
Guitarist/founder/principal songwriter Jeremy Wagner wisely keeps things short and sweet, with only the title track running past the four minute mark and most others staying in the two-and-a-half to three minute range; everything is designed for maximum murderous efficiency, never giving the album a chance to stagnate. Indeed, once “Womb of Horrors” comes out of the blocks, Omen of Disease is relentlessly pummeling, a dozen bloody, messy, yet tightly wound sonic beatdowns (minus the industrial-sounding intro “Septic Premonitions”) crammed into just over half-an-hour. If there’s one thing that’s been the bane of my metal existence in 2013, it’s every band thinking they need to stretch two minutes worth of ideas over ten-plus minute tracks, but with short, sharp shocks like “The Flesh Mechanic” and “Predacious Poltergeist,” (a track based on the awesome/fucked up cult film The Entity, or as I sometimes like to call it, Spooky Porkin’) Broken Hope are having none of it.
Even though it’s damn near impossible to understand Damian Leski’s (also of the mighty Gorgasm) vocals, which resemble a wild boar being sodomized with a lead pipe, one must stop to appreciate Broken Hope’s lyrical insanity. ”The Docking Dead” features line after line of pure poetry, such as: “Corrupted corpses united at the cock / wipe dead genital cheese / upon my lab smock,” while “Choked Out and Castrated” tells the tale of a mass murdering Geisha girl: “Around his neck she wraps her obi sash / choking him out while fingering her gash / ligatures add pleasure to erotic asphyxia / a killing and castration aroused paraphilia.” Are these lyrics more than a bit juvenile? Sure. Are they in ridiculously poor taste? Absolutely. But that’s just part of the fun of listening to a band like Broken Hope. Its the lyrical equivalent of watching a dementedly OTT splatter film and pairs well with Wes Benscoter’s patently disgusting/rad cover art.
Omen of Disease isn’t a ground-breaking death metal album and it isn’t meant to be. It’s meant to cave your fucking face in, and in this aspect it positively excels. It also reestablishes Broken Hope as a force to be reckoned with (music reviewer cliche red alert!), and will hopefully bring them the wider acclaim they deserve. I’ve had a lot of fun listening to it over the past few weeks, and the accompanying documentary DVD The Broken Hope Story is well worth watching, not only for those interested in a band history lesson, but also to shed some light on what it was like for a Midwestern death metal band coming up during the genre’s heyday in a scene largely dominated by Florida and the East Coast. Overall, it’s a really neat package that fans of both oldschool death metal and more modern forms of brutality should have no problem sinking their gore-drenched claws into.
