[Review] CONDITION CRITICAL (US) - ‘Degeneration Chamber’ LP.
PSA - Save Your Drafts!
Sigh. Thank the gods I’m a thrasher, I guess. Here’s round two of my Critical Condition album review!
My initial published version of this post disappeared and died along with my browser, with no temp files or data anywhere to be found. Luckily, I put all of my drafts up to the final polish/necessary blog-facing admin either in Google Docs, Upnote or somewhere similar.
Just a little reminder to fellow writers and readers out there - always have somewhere alternative, safe and secure to work on your drafts!
Now, let’s proceed with Review 2.0.
Artist: Critical Condition
Album: Degeneration Chamber
Label: Independent (Self-Release)
Release Date: Sept 5th, 2025
I’m going to open up this review with a written, exasperated sigh.
Why? Well between the hammering we’ve been copping with inclement weather (Victoria is an Australian state that loves to put the boot in right on the arse-end of winter, just as a reminder), my overall (dys)functioning/mood and, just now, losing the entirety of the polished and finished article on hitting ‘Publish’?
Were I not an ardent thrash, a thrash-metal maniac, a lover and appreciator of this fine sub-genre, I’d have thrown in the towel.
Being that thrash metal is a genre that has acted as an energising, motivation, depression-quashing and fun constant in my musical journey for more than two decades, though, I’ll echo the Millenial/Gen Z catchphrase ‘the horrors persist, but so do I’.
More importantly, however, this Review 2.0 will hopefully serve to reiterate exactly why New Jersey thrash-louts Condition Critical deserve a second pass on a review in quick succession. As does a full re-listen and additional note-taking just to bolster the praise proper.
As mentioned both above and as pretty consistent throughput on my many thrash-related articles/podcast episodes here, the genre is an interesting one. Equal parts motivator, friend and drill-sergeant arse-kicker, it’s far too kinetic an art-form to let anyone rest on their laurels for too long.
And if any LP from the recent glut of titles from ISC Inbox Mountain is antithetical to laurel-resting?
It’s Degeneration Chamber. Holy hell, this sum-bitch doesn’t rest or relent for one hot second. Take the Kreator-ly titled ‘Wretched Aggression’ as the first exhibit in the bands’ ongoing prosecution in the court of complacency. Proceedings begin predictably and speedily enough, a trundling bounce across the fretboard in triplets and power-chord chug.
Things develop a thrash-metal ADHD quickly though, and somehow worse in magnitude than that which ADD-les my own porous, Swiss-cheese-brain operates. This condition (bad puns, yay) indeed has a critical and acute onset. Unlike a degenerative illness, however, this calls for a prognosis of good listener health.
Weaving unannounced from tight chokes and a crossover-leaning riff-template, guitarists Ryan Taylor (vocals/rhythm)/ Tony Barhoum (lead guitar) are swiftly joined by Mike Dreher (bass) and Ryan Donato (drums) in both keeping it thrash-tradition - and throwing the book out the window. Within the track’s latter half we’re dragged from a thickly grooving midpoint through to Dew-Scented-esque death-thrash tremolo/palm-muting before breaking out into the first of many histrionic, widdly and colourful sections of sheer lead shred. Taylor’s given us a on-brand subgenre performance reminiscent of Havok, that half punk-drawl, half-sneering vocal style, but even our singer lets out an unexpected death-growl and boom. Done.
Wait - what?! Now look, I split a lot of my listening tenure between either the most dopamine-starved grindcore up to the most inaccessibly long post-metal epics often, but neither prepared me for the sheer swiftness and lack of fanfare with which the first track arrives, beats me to a pulp, takes my lunch money and leaves as the blood oozes from a million until-now-not-felt knife knicks.
News for you, folks. Conditioned as we all are in an impressively expansive and increasingly talented metal-canon, it’s easy to be outright thrown aback when even a thrash metal dispenses with the usual modern-metal pleasantries. Nope, no quasi-industrial interludes with choppy distorted wartime quotes over a lead guitar refrain. No ‘Battery’ acoustic-introductions, no Opeth-ian proggy quirks. Just all thrash, but relentlessly dynamic.
Take sophomore track ‘Deconstructive Horrors’, which kicks off so quickly after the final scream of “wretched a-ggre-ss-ioooon” of the prior track that I had to double-take. Banking on the ever-solid thrash metal investment of triplets and staccato drumming for the intro, we get a variation on your classic power chord progression shortly thereafter. The flirtation between these chuggier moments (already sliding up and down the neck with nil thought of consequence) are punctured with tasty lightspeed palm-mute runs, themselves also peppered with all manner of individual licks, arpeggios and harmonics. The riffs aren’t even paying attention to themselves, such is the sheer amount of collective urge to paint across the thrash palette.
And paint they do; heck, just within this second track alone there’s ebbs of The Crown sitting right alongside punky gang-chants, a more viscous vocal shriek and a final thirty seconds that somehow fits in a blazing solo, punchy breakdown and a few all-frets-locked-in guitar/bass runs. I’m not kidding, there’s a lot going on here.
Indeed, there’s so much riff-trickery happening here that in less skilled hands it’d be a complete wash. Thankfully, follow-up track ‘Cranial Dissolution’ (say this three times at midnight in rapid succession to summon Carcass’ Jeff Walker) shows the bands’ self-described ‘war of sound’ is less a chaotic skirmish gone wrong, and more of a rapid surgical strike. That is, if the bombers were barrel rolling like a frog-guy from the Nintendo 64 heyday commanded them. Teasing a slow build and deciding musically to just say “oh, fuck this” with metaphorical impatience, Donato discards pleasantries and hypes the tempo from bursts into full-auto, fretted accompaniment bashing out more frantic palm-mute corrugated roofing interspersed with arpeggios, fills and leads agogo.
The only other apt modern comparison in terms of whirling-dervish flurries from different band members is Warbringer, but as a massive fan of said band even I’ll admit these guys somehow seem even busier. The aural equivalent of cramming a PhD thesis in two nights before the due date. It is scholarly, though - you’ll hear plays from the book of Skolnick and Friedman within the guitar-work of the current and following tracks - but it’s also unashamedly oppositional-defiant.
As another practiced-chaos cutting-room between palm-mute-pull and chug-push ends that washing-machine track (again, to little or no fanfare), ‘Hydroponic Mutation’ is up in our face. Largely to its’ own titular nature, too, with riffage partway Municipal Waste playful punk-thrash, and partway scungy Cannabis Corpse fuzzy-death-metal gruff. Across both these tropes (and between, within, around, everywhere?!) the band engage in duck-and-weave fills across the board, pooling resources together for either shorter or lengthier mosh-heavy moments. Particularly dank and tasty kush, the drumming on the outro is both martial and mathcore-coded in nature.
As if to spend a moment helping you collect both thoughts and expectations off the floor, ‘Postmortal Simulation’ skips and bounces on a frolicky fret-bounce. Modern thrashers such as Power Trip come to mind in the thick’n’fast palm-mutes (as well as the vocal barks) here, but the band once again decide to up the ante, ripping and tearing at increased speed - bang. Looney Tunes style, the tempo pulls up like a fictional coyote moments from cliff-face death, straight into a thick, chunky, syrupy groove. Heard throughout with numerous fills and runs, it’s here that Mike’s gnarled, scraped bass gets front-and-centre for a moment that’ll whip hardcore-kid necks to attention fast enough to break ‘em. I can just mentally picture it now, a room of bewildered moshers standing-to, silently in awe before collectively grinning and running at one another. Hit me up if you’ve seen these guys live; I’m sure all of their relatively-brief thrash breakdowns incite similar behaviour. Surely, right?
Heck. We’re far enough in the piece that I should really drop a link on your smartphone-afflicted brain, as a treat.
Cast judgement yourself on the track’s merit via the music video link below, care of Condition Critical via their YT channel:
I sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting still, and that’s not just because I lack blood flow to the prefrontal cortex and thus crave dopamine and m o v e m e n t. Neurotypical, divergent, mosh-shorted or crossed-arms-folded, I can’t picture much stillness in the house for a live rendition of the gloriously by-the-thrash-metal-book-titled number ‘Psychological Epidemic’. The jerky, drunken gumbo-soup conflagration of both thrash tropes, intermittent flourishes and tempo changes is upped significantly here. It’s to the point you almost feel like you’re amongst Every Time I Die, and that’s a compliment! It takes finesse to pull out thrash tradition in as monastic a sense as possible, yet whip it around so many riff-changes the listener is barely aware it’s over until yet another no-BS abrupt ending.
The soloing gets even more diverse and erratic as we go, too, with the above track cruising blues-style and itching to beat notes-per-minute in Guinness World Records equally. No sooner does some furious shred and a very Tom Araya pained wail finish that track off like a .50 cal headshot, ‘Incubation Disposal’ (lot of goregrind band name ideas in these titles eh?) peels off to Florida. No, not towards Schaefer and Co. by way of Atheist, although they’d easily be able to work that in too somewhere.
Nah. Instead, we get an intro that goes full off-kilter classic Cannibal Corpse sway in that old-school death metal swing-time way our forebears are known and loved for. Discarding this idea as quickly as it came for a more studious set of chugs (albeit punctured by more of those rapid fills/lead refrains), the track wholesale veers between democratic flourishes from various members, and those lovely thrash metal all-fretted-instruments magnetised lock-in moments. Mike’s ability to play underneath and/or alongside the madcap guitarists is a theme repeated across this track (and indeed the album) alongside skinsman Ryan; both seem as comfortable in both back and foreground throughout this number particularly.
Oh and it should also be noted - the above ditty breaks an album record for an impressive 4min 37seconds. And yet I had to double-take once more as I could’ve sworn when note-taking that I had my tracks mixed up. Nope, it’s just that damn fast, busy and unrelenting.
Dispensing with any legal concerns about an aforementioned Brummie grinder, ‘Cryonic Intestinal Preservation’ isn’t in fact a clinical tech-death opus, nor a gore-grind mess. It’s kind of in between, though, sans the mess? Echoing late-90’s/early-aughts Swedish death-thrash, there’s some very melodic death metal leaning moments amidst the riffage here. Ironically, these NJ thrash-bro’s end up producing something altogether more pummelling and brutal than that subgenre, but within a firmly flag-waving thrash roar of pride. Throughout all this, vocalist Ryan has mostly kept to a snarky, punky refrain (complete with too many gang-chants happening too briefly to note on the review overall) but continues puncturing snarls, growls and howls, and it’s noticeable here. As is the very thrasher/core-bro group refrain of “FRO-ZEN DEAD!”.
See? Thrash metallers can’t escape the fun factor. It’s hard-coded into their punkish DNA. What’s less punk-rock is the spidery, complex riff-web that chokes out the last moments of the track, but does so in a satisfying way.
Speaking of satiety - think about the last great meal you enjoyed, but one you knew was going to be a sure bet the moment you ordered it.
Safe as my mum’s spaghetti bolognaise, closer ‘Excarnation’ does exactly as is written… somewhere? Like surely, it’s in some United Nations mandate somewhere that all thrash bands must close out with a final track of similar form:
Extended intro riff that ties the album room together, showcasing ideas from across the board;
A wildly frantic mid/latter section with completely bullshit guitar virtuosity; and
Either a classical/world/post-rock/something-similar simple instrumental outro, or a stank, dummy-thicc, punk-as-hell final hurrah mosh-riff.
I think you can tell where this one’s going and yes, they opt for Option B with the latter. Track-wide, the lay of the land is the aural equivalent of Dream Theater being beaten to a pulp by both Enforced and a whole entourage of crossover kids, old-school thrash boomers and punks alike.
As the final salvo of divebombs wail out into a closing riff So Chumpy, Ye Can Carve It, I’m once again transported away from the dreary regional-Victorian grey and straight into a strong visual of a moshpit. To be specific, right before one of those characteristically Thrash Gig Moments (TM) where all look at one another with equal fear, reverence and joy as the set’s final mosh kicks off like none before.
And it’s done. I’m done. Review’s done!
No, folks, no essay-style summation required. I’ve waffled enough, and this is technically a second write of the whole album.
I’ll sum Degeneration Chamber up in as few words as possible with a sentiment - if you’re after a ripping album that is a very creative brawl between death-thrash and crossover, with a bodyfat percentage so low you can see individual hair strands on the abs? Go check out the album on the 5th, but be sure to link yourself in advance via the artist pages below.
Thanks Condition Critical. Like so many great thrash acts before you, you’ve pulled this mopey neurospicy out of a funk and into thrash-metal fun, and I feel better for it.
Now, I know it costs a kidney/amputation/first-born, but I promise if you bring these tunes to the stage Down Under, us convict larrikins will reciprocate with a hell of a lot of what-for via the moshpit.
Great stuff, and I’m already keen to see what comes of a future fourth full-length!
