Sitting in his car outside a death metal house show on a recent Wednesday evening, Brett Kasden is pondering how many people he’s inadvertently sprayed with saliva at his band’s gigs in recent years.
“I wonder how many people I’ve spit on this town?” the bassist-vocalist for the assaultive Vegas trio God’s America questions before providing the answer. “Like, 12.”
“No one ever stands that close,” he continues in speaking tones as soft as his singing voice is gruffly confrontational. “‘Eww, he’s spitting, stay away.’ ”
By now, locals have learned to keep a safe distance from the stage when these dudes play, as spittle-flying ferocity is what this bunch has become known for.
One of the city’s most unrelenting acts, its short, feedback-enhanced bursts of velocity and vitriol introduce themselves like bullets exploding from the muzzle of a gun.
This is powerviolence.
For the uninitiated, we’ll define the terms.
“That’s the thing, you can’t define it, you just know it when you hear it,” Kasden says from behind the wheel. “It’s all kinds of stuff and none of it necessarily sounds the same. It’s all over the place, man. ”
The music evolved from the blazing speed of grindcore and the undiluted anger of the hardest hardcore, resulting in a sound that’s come to encompass many things: noise, doom, crust punk, all taken to their furthest extremes.
Sitting in the back seat of Kasden’s Toyota, guitarist-singer Andres Wade tries to explain things further.
“It’s getting it all out,” he says. “It’s a conduit of anger. Take all of your life’s frustrations and yell in someone’s face.”
To Wade’s point, he and his bandmates have become adept at getting in people’s grilles.
The group, which has been together a couple of years now, caught the attention of Baltimore’s A389 Recordings, an esteemed underground label that’s worked with notables such as Integrity, Ringworm, Weekend Nachos and dozens of others, and who released its EP, “Our Bones Will Bleach in the Sun,” earlier in the year.
In July, the trio, rounded out by drummer Rick Nunez, finished tracking its debut full-length record. Kasden cues up a tune from the CD on the car stereo, and the dense, turgid roar that savages the speakers has the effect of an air raid siren, inspiring the urge to duck and cover.
It’s a polarizing sound, a love-it-or-hate-it kind of thing.
You either get it or it gets you.
“Yeah, most people aren’t like, ‘They’re OK,’ ” Kasden chuckles of the normal response to his band. “It’s either very off-putting for people or very awesome.”
Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at firstname.lastname@example.org or 702-383-0476.