by Devin Birse (@devvvvi.b)
Feedback is a tool commonly placed in the camp of either rage or catharsis. That squall of noise is often a screech of anger or a sigh of pain. Sure the two mix, but it's rare they ever coalesce quite as well as on Prostitute’s debut Attempted Martyr. The Dearborn band rage, screech, and tear through track after track of industrial indebted noise rock with not just ferocity but also exasperation. Each hit of the drums and slash of the guitar sounds as if it’s the band's last. The band pans through each track like dogs howling their last breath as they run into the night. The crushing misery and inhumanity of the modern world weigh so heavily atop the band that while it may not quite crush their spirit, it damn well nearly suffocates it.
This extreme tension between barreling rhythmic drive against wailing misery is a common thread in contemporary noise rock, whether that be in the nightmare sexuality of model/actriz or the drunken howls of Chat Pile. Yet Prostitute manage to go a step beyond. The additions of whirring synths mixed in with buzzsaw guitars create a near-religious awe to their trauma rock. It's a harrowing effect, a wall of sound that transforms their noise rock from rage into anguish. It’s very clear from the album's title and its Bandcamp dedication to Lebanon where that anguish comes from. Attempted Martyr is a visceral reaction to contemporary horrors.
But Prostitute is not a band weighed down by said horror; they are spurned by it. This isn’t slow sludgy noise rock but a faster, more vicious brand, its serrated guitars connecting with no-wave drumming to create an increasing sense of momentum. Lead singer Moe’s wrenching vocal delivery lends an animalistic fury on tracks like “m.dada,” where they sound as if they’re ranting whilst being chased by gunmen through the bush. The lyricism is surrealistic in its violence filled with aggrandizing screeches such as “I’m the motherfucker who cut down the towers” and “Call me boxcutter, kaffir, heir to a whore” on the glorious “All Hail.” It could be easy for these lyrics to come across as pure bragger but the instrumental with looping ground-zero samples and Moe’s desperate last-breath delivery make these claims appear tragic. A sort of desperate defiance against the mounting atrocities occurring in Gaza, Lebanon, and the rest of the Middle East.
That constant reaction against the horrors of the modern world leads to a beautiful dynamic unfolding across the album. The previously mentioned mixture of rage and catharsis often breaks apart into a well of deep spiritual misery. This becomes apparent in the album's back half with tracks like “Senegal.” where the industrial stomp breaks away for a chorus of mournful horns, or on the gothic “In The Corner Dunce,” which trades out feedback for moody guitar riffs and dubby bass work to an unsettling effect. These moments are just as gripping as the blasts of noise thanks to how they find their intensity in a deeper discomfort. Closer “Harem Induction Hour” is the band's ultimate example of this, its endlessly building wave of guitars and synths washing over the listener as Moe cries “Or was it only a daydream? Am I the only one?.” Even as the album ends, the band is still desperately asking the listener to see the horrors before them through the raw desperation bleeding out of each note they play.