Originally written by Rae Amitay
There’s a Finnish power trio operating under the Superchrist moniker, but I’d hate to see what would happen if they went toe-to-steel-toe with these Chicago natives. The Superchrist behind Holy Shit has been around for quite some time, and their thrashy traditional sound has assaulted eardrums for six albums’ worth of material. Their style is distinctly old school, and comparisons to Motorhead are sure to come to mind. There’s not a sad-eyed ballad to be found amongst the ten tracks of Holy Shit, and while these songs may not appeal to the more “cerebral” metalheads, Superchrist’s entertaining blend of rock and early metal is worth a listen for those who’d rather pound back some brews and bang their heads, rather than gaze solemnly at their shoes.
The production isn’t fantastic, but it does the job, and after a few drinks I doubt there’ll be many complaints about the placement of drums in the mix. The aspect about this band I most enjoy is their sincerity. It’s one thing to act like you’re old school, it’s another thing entirely to create convincing music that sounds straight out of that era. Superchrist succeeds admirably at this, and in a land where bands of teenagers try to shout about the “good old days”, it’s refreshing to hear this trio create music that comes from a believable place.
Each song packs a punch (though some hit harder than others), and songs like “Run to the Night”, “Hot Tonight” and “Beer Metal” are anthemic and infectious. I’m kicking myself for not seeing these guys live, because I’m sure it would’ve been a raucous adventure. While the lyrics aren’t exactly exploring uncharted territory, they encapsulate the “booze, women, and brass knuckles” lifestyle perfectly. There are no flashy drum solos, and the riffs are boisterous rather than bludgeoning. The guitar solos are a fine melodic blend of shred and instinct, and vocalist/bassist Chris Black has a rough and ready voice that fits in perfectly with the tattered leather and cheap whiskey atmosphere created on Holy Shit. Structurally, the songs don’t vary much, but the album barely clocks in at thirty minutes, and the repetition is forgivable and easy to overlook.
Is Superchrist trying to reinvent the wheel? No, but Holy Shit provides a hell of a ride. Let your hair down, throw on your boots, and see if the night finds you in the thick of a dive bar brawl.
