From the smirking spoonerism behind their name to their unruly brand of mathcore, a slashing mess of panic chords and hairpin melodic turns that sounds like Botch performing Faith No More’s Angel Dust, the Callous Daoboys are a lot to take in. But on their third album, the Atlanta sextet display newfound poise, even refinement, in songs that are at turns heavier, more ambitious and more straightforwardly pop than anything they’ve put out before.
There is a dystopian concept at work here – we are invited to view I Don’t Want to See You in Heaven as a monument to failure housed in a futuristic museum – but it’s essentially a framing device that allows vocalist Carson Pace to turn over mid-20s anxieties at a safe remove. “Your mother saw me waiting tables and she asked if I was doing that ‘band thing’ still,” he murmurs on Lemon, which surges from skittering indie-pop into a muscular refrain fit for imperial-phase Linkin Park.
Existing fans might bristle at its obvious gloss, but the hook’s clean lines are undeniable and, elsewhere, the band have lost none of their bite. They windmill through death growls and harrowing riffs on Full Moon Guidance, while there is similar power found in Two-Headed Trout’s patient build, its maddeningly catchy chorus eventually overtaken by a febrile breakdown. The Callous Daoboys are still a lot, but they’ve added something fresh to their gonzo arsenal: the ability to stop and look around before moving on to the next shiny thing.
