Hailing from Leeds, Pleb is a duo featuring Delia Fraser (credited with guitar and “feedback hell”) and Steve Myles (“drums, squawks, grunts”). For Grease Trap, the band recorded live, simulating the unpleasantness of the titular object by layering their sound in so much distortion and noise, that listening to the EP is not unlike being trapped in a giant steel vat with only the sound of an industrial mincing machine for company.
And, if that leaves you as to any doubt as to our stance, it’s fucking awesome!
From its unsettling title to the appalling guitar tone that makes you want to physically remove your eardrums from your body, Pleb’s Grease Trap exists in a world when Khanate rule the roost and Godflesh are the mainstream. Seriously, this is bruising, brutally minimalistic sludge delivered by a band whose primary function is to measure endurance, with the 70-second Clods Of Shit And Bone making an early case for the unhinged misanthropy of its creators. It’s followed by The Bruises Mean It’s On Its Way Out. A comparatively lengthy slog at around 100-seconds, it’s a distortion-strewn slab of metal that is on at least friendly terms with early Napalm Death, the waves of noise threatening to overwhelm the listener and the guitars permanently on the verge of slipping into uncontrollable feedback.
The band offer little in the way of respite with both The Eyes Melt First and Put It Back clocking in at around 70-seconds each. You might, if you’re feeling especially generous, make the case that Put It Back approaches some sort of groove although, with the vocals fed through layer-after-punishing-layer of cold digital distortion and the drums not faring much better, it’s not exactly easy to verify.
The pace picks up with the proto-industrial-sludge thrash of Evolutionary Roadblock and suddenly I’m reminded of Rhode-Island noise merchants The White Mice, whose experimental hellscapes are the stuff of gloriously multi-hued sonic nightmares. Then there’s the brilliantly titled The Streets Aren’t Reliable In The Slightest, which has a sawing riff that – want to or not – will have you head banging even as you try to push your earplugs ever deeper into your ears.
If you’ve lasted long enough to make it to the Nolan-esque epic that is You And Me Ain’t Nothing But Cannibals (all two-and-a-bit minutes of it), you’ll find drummer Steve experimenting with the St Anger snare sound, as if that unholy pang is the most natural thing in the world amidst Delia’s dangerously overdriven riffs. It leaves the doom-laden Belly Up to wrap things up, leaving all but the most hardened of hardcore veterans feeling as if they’ve gone ten rounds with the Terminator.
Grease Trap is not music to be taken lightly or ill-advisedly. Indeed, spend any time with it all and you’ll be forced to conclude that it should carry some sort of warning label, for it’s hard to imagine anyone driving a car or operating heavy machinery while listening to this without causing the sort of accident that requires a mop, a bucket, and an army of technicians in hazmat suits. However, it’s also music that provides a compelling antidote to the corporate, homogenised, identikit rock bands treading the boards in the name of contemporary rock ‘n’ roll – something of a specialty of the esteemed Human Worth label.
Dirty, unhinged music for dirty, unhinged people, with Grease Trap, Pleb have lain down one hell of a gauntlet. It might be for the select few but, for those willing to plunge into the foaming, murky waters, there are rich rewards (and probably a fair few diseases) to be found. Just don’t say we didn’t warn you. 8.5/10
