Wer Das Schlechte Nicht Ehrt by Bastard Peels: A Sonic Sledgehammer to the Face
Alright, let’s get one thing straight—this album is not for the faint of heart. If you're looking for something soft and cuddly, go listen to whatever Spotify recommends when it thinks you’re sad. But if your soul craves raw, unfiltered chaos dripping with rage and riffs that feel like they were forged in the fiery depths of some German underworld, then Wer Das Schlechte Nicht Ehrt by Bastard Peels might just be your new favorite punishment.
Released back in 2012 (yeah, I know, ancient history), this beast of an LP hails from Germany under the label Unundeux. It’s a gnarly mashup of Hardcore, Death Metal, and Grindcore—a genre cocktail so brutal even its own mother probably flinches sometimes. And who do we have to thank for this auditory assault? One dude: Engel Mayr. He handles guitars, vocals, composition—the whole shebang. Talk about wearing all the hats! Or maybe he was just too stubborn to share the credit. Either way, respect.
Now, onto the tracks. With 20 songs packed into what feels like a relentless 45-minute hate spiral, there's plenty to unpack here. But two tracks really stuck with me because, well, how could they not?
First up: "Paedopriester." Yikes, right? Even saying the title makes me want to take a long shower. This song hits harder than a drunk bouncer at a dive bar. The riffs are jagged and nasty, like stepping on Legos but somehow worse. And those guttural growls? They sound like someone gargling gravel while screaming exorcism prayers. You don’t forget a track like this—it’s equal parts horrifying and mesmerizing, kind of like watching a car crash unfold in slow motion.
Then there’s "Party," which… wait, hold on. Did I read that correctly? Yup. “Party.” In the middle of a death metal grindfest, Bastard Peels decides to throw us a curveball with a track called “Party.” Now, before you start imagining beach balls and piñatas, let me clarify—it still sounds like Satan got into a fight with his blender. So yeah, not exactly “YMCA” vibes here. But weirdly enough, it works. Maybe it’s the absurdity of naming a skull-crushing anthem after something as wholesome as a party, or maybe it’s just the sheer audacity of it all. Whatever it is, it’s memorable.
What struck me most about this record isn’t just the music itself—it’s the attitude. There’s no pretense, no overthinking. It’s pure, unapologetic aggression wrapped in grimy production values. Like, imagine if your angsty teenage years decided to form a band and vent every frustration ever bottled up inside. That’s Wer Das Schlechte Nicht Ehrt. It’s messy, chaotic, and occasionally hard to stomach—but damn, does it feel real.
So, would I recommend this album? Depends. If you’re into music that punches you in the face repeatedly while yelling unintelligible things in German, then absolutely. If you prefer melodies sweeter than grandma’s apple pie, steer clear. Honestly, though, I think Engel Mayr wouldn’t care either way. This guy clearly made this album for himself—and maybe a handful of headbangers brave enough to keep up.
Final thought: Listening to Wer Das Schlechte Nicht Ehrt feels like surviving a tornado. You walk away dazed, slightly bruised, and wondering why you enjoyed it so much. Oh, and also, never google the lyrics unless you’re prepared to question humanity.
