Heard of horrorcore rap? It’s an underground style of hip-hop focusing on slasher-movie themes: cannibalism, torture, rape. While I’m not the hugest horrorcore fan, I’m curious to see such a rapper live. An early ’90s pioneer in the subgenre, Sacramento’s Brotha Lynch Hung, brings his ultraviolent and extra-gruesome lyrical themes to LVCS at 10 p.m. July 26. His best-known song is “Krocadil,” from his recent album, Mannibalector, which is about, um, devouring fake MCs: Rappers needs to get smacked/Show ’em they ain’t useful now/They one-hitter quitters, skinny-jean niggaz/R&B singers/I’m a crocodile meat-eater. Can’t wait to Instagram a selfie at this show for my mom to like!
Las Vegas’ own Bounty Hunter Brothers specialize in pre-grunge alt-rock: all loud guitars and catchy vocal melodies. The local trio’s “Love Tornado,” from self-released disc Paid in Full, is Exhibit A—four punk chords and singer/guitarist Bobby Pesti delivers self-effacing lyrics: And I matched every single vodka tonic/With a Diet Coke and a cigarette/You introduced me to your friends/Maybe now I can be your pet. Or at least her dog, right? Bounty Hunter Brothers should capture a sizeable audience at Triple B (8 p.m. July 27), with Wax Pig Melting, Fredward and Zigtebra.
Masked rap-metal marauders Hollywood Undead haunt House of Blues at 6:30 p.m. July 28. We are made from broken parts/We were broken from the start, the band sings on first single “We Are” from third full-length Notes From the Underground. It’s a hypnotic song with a searing hook, even if you can cut Undead’s teen angst with a Hot Topic keychain. Plus, I’m a sucker for any group that sticks to using pseudonyms and wearing personalized masks based on the visage of Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th.
Santa Cruz-based technical-death metal outfit Decrepit Birth descends upon Cheyenne Saloon at 10 p.m. August. 1. This quartet sounds absolutely uncanny in the studio—check out their song and video for “The Resonance,” from 2010’s Polarity. It’s loaded with blasting drumbeats and angular thrash riffs, and then the music slows down for an eerily tuneful measure or three, twin guitars loop-de-looping like butterflies. Make no mistake: This is extreme heavy metal, but it’s wrought with a precise musicianship typically reserved for jazz monsters. Some trivia about Decrepit Birth: Singer Bill Robinson is homeless—by choice. Dude lives and breathes music, and music alone. Respect, yo.
Your Vegas band releasing a CD soon? Email Jarret_Keene@Yahoo.com.