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The third act traditionally brings clarity or narrative resolution, but with their final missive as a band, Class Act have tightened themselves into an impossible knot. iii isn’t a record with one clear sound, as the band have evolved to the point of uncommon time signatures and Midwest hardcore that’s folded in on itself repeatedly—a paper football made of dense bass, wild feedback, pounding drums, unhinged growls, and crunchy noise. “Make it make sense,” they demand, but they can’t make sense of a goddamn thing. Why are people joyfully splashing in the water when they can clearly see somebody’s pissing right upstream? Wait…are the band wrong and is the piss actually good? They debate with themselves, but look around and see that humanity is rendered dispensable in a post-comprehension world.
Maybe this complete lack of resolution isn’t a storybook ending, but this is where the Kansas City band find themselves here at the finish line. They decided early on they would limit themselves to three records, and across their discography, their lyrics have become more solipsistic, their songwriting more circuitous. This was always a project that existed in the same basement, but soon, they’ll take their findings out on the road for the first time. They’ve been swinging wildly in the dark, every futile and chaotic attempt at understanding hitting hard as they stay in the same place. Maybe the healthy thing is to finally walk that dog. Class Act is Brady on bass, Nick on guitar, Lance on drums and vox, and Bob on drums. Say bye bye. - Evan Minsker
after three questionable attempts at articulation class act is now tired and drunk and will go home
- Format Type: cassette