On paper, Montreal’s Truck Violence shouldn’t work this well. A collective of rural-born Canadians mixing sludge, post-hardcore, noise, and folk sounds like a pileup befitting their name, but believe me when I say this: If you love Unsane, Unwound, Chat Pile, and early Modest Mouse, Truck Violence are likely to make it to heavy rotation.
The weathervane is my body is their second album, and it is a marked leap forward from their debut, Violence. Where that record’s swirl of those sounds came off a little disjointed, if still appealing, The weathervane is my body blends these elements far more effectively. The command of sound that Truck Violence show on this collection is truly impressive. With relentlessly bleak and oblique lyrics, this could have been a slog, more punishment than punishing, but the elements of folk and rural music woven into several tracks elevate the record and make it more listenable.
Truck Violence have spoken about how it was important to retain influence from the rural communities they grew up in, and that is one of the most exciting aspects of their sound. Breaking up the relentless onslaught with pretty folk sections and full tracks shows the band’s capacity for creativity and allows the listener to be caught off guard.
Opening track “My dog would fuck the air” begins with a sinister riff that gives way to an eerie verse and some truly unsettling lyrics. Thus it goes for the next 30 minutes. “Jaundiced and reaching for a mother” is one of the tracks that recalls Chat Pile, with a driving riff that keeps switching tempo and gargling glass vocals. “Compelled by Christy” is a slow burn centered around the line “I lose it all, and I start again”.
“House caught fire” comes out of nowhere, a pretty, unnerving ballad that’s not far off from some of Isaac Brock’s quieter moments on The Lonesome Crowded West. It’s just enough time to catch your breath before “New Jesus” comes stomping in, with squalls of noise and messages full of anger at the injustices of the 6th January pardons and other Trump regime grifts (“Under no obligation to tell the truth”). “Your name, it’s walking” begins with a similar tower of noise, but breaks into a spooky, pretty middle section before resuming pained screams and a sludgy riff.
There is one track that is purely quiet end to end, the appropriately titled “Gerard, be quiet”, and coming as late in the record as it does, it’s hard to trust that it won’t explode at some point. Still, it remains unsettlingly calm before “Kindly, wash yourself” returns to the successful blueprint of bottled rage that cannot be contained.
Truck Violence are not going to be for everyone, and they seem totally fine with that. They fit right in on a label with artists like Chat Pile, Rhododendron, and Agriculture. For those who like their music dark and their humor as pitch-black as a strong cup of diner coffee, The weathervane is my body is easily a highlight of this year’s releases.