If I have been critical of Primitive Man for one thing throughout their short but impressive career, it’s been the amount of waste in their records. The band’s debut LP, Scorn, was loaded with what I considered excess noise, samples and prolonged feedback which severely affected the fluidity of the album. Their 2014 follow-up, P / / M, suffered from the same inability to edit, and included a 17-minute-plus song simply titled “Cum.” Following splits with Fister, Hexis, Xaphan and Hessian later that year, Primitive Man now return with a four-song, 31-minute EP entitled Home Is Where the Hatred Is to give their fans a view at what their future is. And in my opinion, that future is exceptionally repetitive.
Home Is Where the Hatred Is opens with “Loathe,” a roughly 11-minute track that was previously released as a single in 2014 and is full of everything you’ve come to know and expect from Primitive Man. It’s fuzzy, sludgy, and full of feedback, dissonance and an extensive buildup to the conclusion. At times, the band’s blend of doomy-sludge sounds straight out of New Orleans (think Thou, Eyehategod) but lacks the cohesiveness of those bands. The second track, “Downfall,” opens with full on crusty blasts before slowing down to a doomy crawl. Sadly, it feels as if their songwriting style has become exceptionally rote. As the listener, I found myself wishing the trio would hang onto the crusty opener to this track and play with that a bit more before submitting themselves to boorish, repetitive chugs.
“Bag Man” opens with the typical feedback and count-off on the high-hat before dropping, once again, into the same, chugging, plodding riff we’ve heard countless times over the previous two tracks. The songs are loud and thick but lack the sheer brutality that we, as fans, want to hear out of these guys. That’s not to say that slow cannot be brutal, because it most certainly can; it’s just not accomplishing that here. The final track, “A Marriage with Nothingness,” is an organically ambient track full of pornographic moaning, rattling cymbals and tinny feedback. Once again though, the song fails to climax—leaving the listener angst riddled, frustrated and in need of the release that you hear someone enjoying, and begging for, throughout the monotony here.
I don’t mean to sound overly harsh or unenthused with Primitive Man; they’re a band that, at times, I thoroughly enjoy—and even more so, are a band I want to enjoy. Too often, however, I find myself nodding off as if in a heroin coma as their songs fail to evolve. I still look forward to their sophomore LP, but I’m no longer expecting the band to turn up the brutality switch to eleven.