A jagged snare crack splits the dark, and “Devourer” lunges forward like a chain‑link fence yanked off its posts. Charming Scars barely a year old in Sulphur Springs lore sound neither tentative nor polite. Carter Luera’s guitar spits rust, Sal Castro’s drums pummel without mercy, and Mike Shirley’s bass rumbles like something subterranean finally surfacing for air. The opening riff nods to Dead Kennedys bite, but the trio weaponises it with modern low‑end heft, stitching punk sneer to grunge gravity.
Tempo stays in the red, yet the arrangement swerves with purpose. Verse sections ride a tense, palm‑muted grind before detonating into a chorus that feels like flooring the accelerator on gravel stones fly, vision blurs, but the exhilaration is worth the whiplash. Luera’s vocal isn’t imitation Biafra; it’s raw‑throated desperation sharpened by just‑enough melody to make the rage singable. Lines about “hollow kings” and “teeth on the wire” slice through the distortion, framing the devourer less as monster and more as system, always hungry for flesh.
Production keeps the scars visible: guitars scrape, cymbals splash rough edges, and the master fends off polish in favour of live‑room sweat. Yet subtle craft lurks beneath the chaos a half‑beat pause before the last chorus tightens every muscle, and layered gang shouts in the bridge give the track communal fire. It’s easy to picture a club floor heaving as strangers yell those lines back, every stomp syncing to Castro’s relentless kick.
At two‑and‑a‑half minutes, “Devourer” ends abruptly, as if the tape snapped under strain. The silence that follows feels suspiciously calm, like storm‑eye quiet hiding more damage on the horizon. For a debut‑year band, Charming Scars already own their fractures, turning each one into a weapon. Spin this loud; let the foundation tremble, and count yourself devoured.
