Various Artists
I Hate It Here, I Never Want to Leave
Mustache Records

Yes, Virginia, there is a Houston rock scene. And from the evidence provided here, it’s pissed off and out for blood. The 12 heavily distorted local bands populating this compilation are certainly unafraid to sling the feedback or shred their throats with outbursts of raw rage, and what the disc might lack in variety it makes up for in full-tilt aggression. As the seeming contradiction of the CD’s title succinctly implies, in order for music this angry and frustrated to happen, actual anger and frustration are key. The comp’s somber liner notes point out that living in Houston provides no shortage of either emotion. “Rent is dirt cheap and the food is great,” proclaims the little paper insert, “but the place seethes with corruption, the traffic and air pollution are among the worst in the country and the summer heat and suburban sprawl are legendary.” Word.

Fatal Flying Guilloteens — which in the interest of full disclosure features our own Nightfly on lead guitar — are first out the gate with the crazed “Cobra Pills,” giving a decent approximation of their searing live shows. A few tracks later, Bring Back the Guns plays the offhand, nearly laconic, delivery of vocalist Matthew Brownlie against the quartet’s galloping sonic barrage to humorous effect. The call-and-response “I Death You to Death” by Dead Roses is as goofy as it sounds (“you broke the mirror / seven years bad luck, bitch”). Toward the end, the two-guitars-plus-drums trio Torches of Fury shows off some decent fretboard-shredding chops, and God’s Temple of Holy Deliverance shows admirable tenacity as it extends its Melvins-meet-Naked City-doing-the-Melvins epic “You Are the Shining Star of His Existence” for 15 whole minutes (nearly a quarter of the disc’s total running time). About halfway through the disc, Ume provides the most noticeable shift in mood, as vocalist Lauren’s conversationally feminine singing and the trio’s affable drone give the listener 3:31 to relax and daydream before returning, refreshed, to the sonic onslaught.

The liner notes go on to state that for those making music in Houston, “the possibilities are endless, but the plausibilities are depressingly limited.” Indeed, to never want to leave a place you hate might strike some as a bit masochistic, and to stay in a bad environment in order to fuel anger and disgust for musical purposes is perhaps akin to someone making themselves sick because they like the taste of the meds. Still, whether we find the overall effect cathartic or emetic, the music on I Hate It Here provides Houston with 12 ways to let it all out. — Scott Faingold

This article appears in Jan 27 – Feb 2, 2005.