A long running joke for pop music fans is that every twelve months we need to unfreeze Michael Buble in the hopes of a decent Christmas song (there rarely is one). The same sentiments, and punchline of this quip can be applied to Georgia quintet Norma Jean.
Every 2-3 years metalcore metaphorically wheels out the five-piece with the intention of showing there’s still gas left in the tank of the genre yet. Metalcore has undergone several metamorphoses (some of them god awful) in the two decades since Norma Jean flourished in its inception; but they have remained a legitimate, dependable outlet.
It’s fitting then that ninth studio album Deathrattle Sing For Me showcases every trope the band have mastered, while showing flirtation with some new musical dice-rolls. There’s a unique intimacy applied to opening track ‘1994’. Its ‘fly on the wall’ like production has Cory Brandan’s raps of “It hurts. It hurts. It hurts” feel like his lips are pursed physically against your eardrum as he rattles off. We’ve never been closer to an in-studio experience.
‘Memorial Hoard’ opts for a moving, sombre tone. Brandan sounds as haunted as he ever has when he mutters “Imagine no possessions. You may say I’m a dreamer.” And the 90 second instrumental to close makes this one of the more obtuse Norma Jean efforts you will ever encounter. In a sense, the record’s at times stance stretches to following track Aria Obscura, too. A meddling, hard rock riff plays centrepiece for a fluctuating tempo until chaos eventually implodes within its pinching middle eight.
The record has classic Norma Jean flowing confidently through its veins though. And to the surprise of no one: it’s in these moments the album as at its most corrosive. The duo of W W A V V E and A Killing Word perch the bands sound one inch from exploding for 90% of their play time; making us wait patiently for the call to arms that is a Norma Jean breakdown. Still masters in the field: the Georgians still know how to pen a part singalong, part fire starter.
Forgettable moments like Penny Margs and Parallella can be forgiven as brave, but misplaced attempts at growth. And that’s because as the band unleash into the fluctuating bar-fight brawls of tempo that are Sleep Explosion and Spearmint Revolt you must remind yourself it’s 2022, not 2008.
With the exception of Cory Brandan’s former Twitter ramblings, Norma Jean refuse to tarnish their legacy. At nine albums, and two decades long: history suggests the bands current position should be much worse than it currently is. It’s safe to assume that the five piece will probably never (musically at least) drop the ball. See you in three years lads.