Album Review: Demo 96 by Barrit – A Raw Slice of Hardcore and Metalcore Fury
Released in 1996, Demo 96 by Barrit is a gritty, unpolished gem that captures the raw energy of American hardcore and metalcore. Self-released under the band’s own label, this album doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not—it’s straight-up heavy, chaotic, and brimming with attitude. If you’re into music that feels like a punch to the gut, this one’s worth your time.
The album kicks off with “Reside,” and let me tell ya, it sets the tone perfectly. It’s got this chuggy guitar riff that just digs into your skull and refuses to leave. The vocals are harsh, almost desperate, but there’s something oddly compelling about how they cut through the chaos. This track sticks with you because it’s simple yet effective—no frills, no overproduction, just pure aggression. You can practically hear the sweat dripping off the band as they recorded it. It’s messy, sure, but isn’t that what makes it real?
Another standout is “Godless Disease.” This one hits hard lyrically, tackling themes of disillusionment and societal decay without being preachy. The breakdowns are nasty—like, slam-your-fist-into-the-wall nasty—and the tempo shifts keep you on edge. What really gets me, though, is how the song builds tension before exploding into its final crescendo. By the end, you’re left breathless, wondering what just hit you. Tracks like this remind you why hardcore and metalcore were such powerful outlets for frustration back in the '90s.
“Kill The Breed” and “Time Worn” round out the tracklist, both delivering their own brand of heaviness. While they don’t quite reach the same heights as “Reside” or “Godless Disease,” they still pack enough punch to keep listeners hooked. The production quality might feel dated to some, but honestly, that’s part of the charm. This isn’t an album trying to impress critics; it’s a demo tape made by a group of guys who clearly lived and breathed this music.
Looking back at Demo 96, it’s fascinating how albums like this serve as time capsules. They weren’t polished or marketed to death—they were labors of love, shared with whoever cared to listen. In today’s world of algorithm-driven playlists and hyper-produced tracks, Barrit’s work feels refreshingly human.
Final thought? Listening to this record feels like finding an old mixtape at a thrift store. It’s rough around the edges, maybe even a little forgotten, but once you press play, it demands your attention. And hey, isn’t that what great music should do?
