Drug Church occupy a singular position in the American hardcore landscape. The upstate New York band, led by singer and lyricist Patrick Kindlon, graft onto a post-hardcore base the energy and melodies of 1990s alternative rock — a crossing that, on Hygiene, reaches a remarkable balance between aggression and pop.
The critics (an 84 average across nine reviews) hailed an immediately effective record, where each track seems cut to lodge in the head. What distinguishes Drug Church is this ability to make abrasive, near-noisy riffs cohabit with choruses of an almost guilty catchiness. One thinks at times of a crossing between hardcore and the most melodic grunge.
The band’s savour also lies in its lyrics. Kindlon deploys a gaze at once sharp, ironic and empathetic on the small failings and great routs of ordinary existence — magnificent losers, everyday flops, battered characters he observes without contempt. This writing, at human height, gives the record an unexpected warmth.
One might object that Hygiene does not shake the frames, that it stays within a well-marked melodic comfort zone. The reproach is founded: the record seduces at once but digs no new furrows. Its success owes less to daring than to execution, of constant accuracy.
Verdict: 8.5/10. A fearsomely catchy record, proof that one can be biting and melodic without ever choosing sides.
