If you somehow missed the fact that crusty-hardcore-punk legends Tragedy dropped a new EP on August 31st you wouldn’t be alone. “Fury” may have come from left field but it definitely is hitting home with reviewers (our own Carson Winter gave it 5 out of 5 stars). If you want to see what all the hype is about you’re in luck because you can stream all 6 blistering tracks below.
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I was one of the lucky few, I got to see Tragedy on their home turf. For some, this will mean nothing. There’s so many nooks and crannies in the punk scene that we can’t possibly know it all. But for others—die-hards of crust and hardcore—the chance to see Tragedy is everything.
This is a band, that when they were first introduced to me were jokingly referred to as “the punkest band.” They exist on a different level from other similar groups, they are the progenitors of their melodic, D-beat infused style—with each member branching off into dozens of equally worthy bands. But besides the music (which is the reason we are here—but please, stay with me), the cult of Tragedy is also built around the group’s admirable, nearly monastic silence, ironic as it is for hardcore. Tragedy is the Fugazi of heavy punk; they self-release their albums, they rarely engage in interviews, and they don’t promote their music. Tragedy is mysterious, therefore: Tragedy is cool.
So, a chance to see this iconic band for a second time was something special. But you can imagine the beats my heart skipped when I saw a new album on their merch table. Stark black and white, vaguely apocalyptic looking and titled Fury—I had cash on the table in seconds.
Fury is their latest EP, and as any fan would expect, it wasn’t expected and it doesn’t disappoint. It contains six tracks and lasts about seventeen minutes, and to my ears is a hunkering down on the band’s more hardcore roots, while stepping away from the doomier aspects of Darker Days Ahead. The title is an apt one. While there are some prototypical Tragedy melodies (like the brooding bass on opener “Leviathan”), this is pure, unbridled rage. When the dirge like melody recedes and the thrashing begins, the first words of the album bark like a wild animal: “Keel, keel over!” “Leviathan” is classic Tragedy—as bleak and ruthless as ever.
“Enter the Void” opens with a great riff, and has some of the best fretwork on the album. Trilling guitars create tension; melodic solos make for heaviness that goes beyond mere down-tuning. Part of Tragedy’s appeal isn’t just sonic heaviness, it’s the fundamentals of their minor key dynamics working in tandem with their lyrical nihilism. It’s in the title-track where I wondered if Fury (and specifically, “Fury”) was written in response to the last presidential election. The album’s rage is palpable, but wisely, it doesn’t age itself with specificity. Still, the words of “Fury” carry the howl of an outsider watching a wreck they can’t prevent: “A look out the window, yields only darkness. A sick world going insane.”
“A Life Entombed” is a rousing response to the same predicament. It’s a call-to-action—a violent, furious rager that feels like a beatdown. It promises an uprising, “while they’re obese and delighted”—a message of grotesque hope for the outsiders looking in. The EP ends with a simple piano outro that carries the weight of a question mark. With these six songs of pure fury, it begs the question: will we do anything with the rage we’ve accumulated?
With or without Fury, Tragedy would have a perfect catalog. But more than ever, we need voices like theirs—to process the world around us, to engage our nightmares in a fair fight. Tragedy does this and more, without marketing, promotion, or theatricality. They are a punk band, and they trade in our scene’s greatest tenet: confrontation. And just like the Ramones—they let their art speak for them. In Portland, sweaty from the pit; my hat caked in beer-mud—Tragedy finished their set to applause and laughter. It was a rare sight. A chant started from the crowd, “one more song,” over and over. And I had to smile, because when the band leaves, the band leaves. Tragedy—whether on vinyl, or in person—does what they need to do, then vanishes. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Saturday, September 1, 2018 at 3:12 PM (PST) by Carson Winter
Fans of Tragedy know the band has a tendency to be a tad mysterious. These guys are punk to the bone. No marketing, no social media; all records self-released. When Tragedy does something, you don’t know it until it’s in your hand. And despite all that silence, their dark and crusty take on hardcore has become one of the most influential sounds of the genre. It bridges the gap between metal and punk, abrasion and melody. It’s at once brutal and musical—and never anything less than intense. For fans of the more extreme edge of the genre, Tragedy is as much of a sound as a band—an oft-imitated progenitor.
Last night, August 31st, the band played a sold out show in their hometown of Portland, OR, where attendees were surprised to see a merch table filled with shirts, stickers, and an album no one had ever seen before. This was Fury—six songs of vein-popping melodic crust available, so far, only on vinyl. Whether this counts as an EP or an LP is up to the readers, but on first listen, it has elements of the band’s doom-stricken Darker Days Ahead as well as the D-Beat of their earlier releases. Some might say this is a return to form, and Fury, is an apt title.
So, there you have it Tragedy fans, if you want the new album, keep a lookout. As of last night, it officially exists.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016 at 12:16 PM (PST) by Carson Winter
I made the decision to get to the Know early. Like, really early. Doors were opening at eight pm, and there I was, breaking liquid bread with friends at six. I’m naturally punctual, but moreso, I wanted to eliminate the nightmare outcome: to miss the rarity that is Tragedy. So there I was, absurdly early, just to grab a seat.
The bar was empty except for my trio and the Die Kreuzen shirted bartender. I asked him about the show. He smiled broadly and I saw that the perks of his job were probably better than mine. “This’ll be the first time they’ve played in a year,” he said. I believed him.
I’m not a native Portlander. I moved here, just like every other twenty-something music fan with a dank-fade cum dank-undercut and beard to match. Even now, I don’t even live in the city limits, residing in the affordable and somewhat bustling suburb of Vancouver, WA. I am the bridge-and-tunneler of the Portland Metro Area. But, the reason I moved here is etched on those show fliers that turn streetlights into bloated papier mache monstrosities. The scene is vibrant here, the local band are world-class, and punk rock is ceaselessly happening. When I made the decision to move here, there was a shortlist of natives I wanted to see in action that grew as I became more entrenched in the community. Absent Minds was the first to be checked off the list. Then there was Broadway Calls and Toxic Kid. And of course, No Sleep darlings Lee Corey Oswald. But, every week, when I scoured the ol’ pc-pdx index of shows; searching for something that matched a spare weekend, I never saw Tragedy.
I’m not a huge crust guy. I like a lot of different punk rock, and most of it matches my black-rimmed glasses and slicked hair very well, thank-you-very-much. But, outside of soulful and beardy melodic punk, I’ve always been twisting my hands deeper and deeper in hardcore. There’s something purifying in the minimalism– rock ‘n roll taken to the absolute most basic and primal. When I found Tragedy, I found a bridge between melody and aggression. Whether you like the genre or not, you can hear the exceptionalism clearly across Tragedy’s body of work. They managed to take cues from genres that, almost by design, tend to sound largely the same, and then push them into new territory. Tragedy innovates. Tragedy crushes. Tragedy are the top of the game.
There was no question in my mind then, that when I saw the Portland crust legends had a show on the horizon, I had to go. It was Tragedy, after all, and after almost two years of keeping my ear to the ground, I finally had a chance to see punk rock’s most mysterious group. Further fueling my excitement, I saw it was going to be at the Know.
Now, that might not mean much to a lot of you, but if you’ve been to the Know, and know the rabidness of Tragedy’s fanbase, you know that this is a special show. The Know is tiny. It’s a bar with a small stage in a connecting room with a capacity of maybe a hundred people. What it lacks in size it makes up for in authenticity. It’s a true punk bar, with no affectations of hipness. Shows happen there just about every night of the week. The drinks are reasonably priced, as are the cover charges. The Know is good people.
So, it made sense to get their early– really early– just to be sure it would happen. We calmly sat and chatted as people filtered and by eight the place was starting to be decently filled. Knowing smiles flashed between strangers in vests as they drank Rainier and talked shit about the work week.
I got on the floor early enough to see the first band set up their banner. This was Hangmen Also Die, a local power trio that tread in the waters of D-Beat, hardcore, and crust. They took the stage and played a short set (my understanding was that they were a relatively recently formed band) made up of incredibly fast songs. Both drummer (a dude with white dreads that looked like one of the albino twins from the second Matrix movie) and bassist screamed, one doing higher, piercing vocals and the other doing wild-faced roars. The music itself was simple, the guitarist mostly played fast-as-hell chord progressions; the visuals of fingers forming those old and holy shapes gave me a sense of punk rock ancestry, a reminder that no matter how heavy or brutal you are, if you’re playing punk rock, you owe a little debt to the Ramones. They had energy to spare and came and went exactly as an opener should– leaving you wanting more.
Next up was Gasmask Terror, a French crust band with a lot of passion. The lead vocalist wasn’t hindered by any instrument and therefore was able to focus a lot of energy into his performance. The fretwork was superb, with lots of sweet, almost classically rock ‘n roll solos. Bends and hammer-ons, up and down the fretboard as the band blasted through a strong and angry setlist. As a francophile, I was stoked to see French punk rock representin’. I thanked the guitarist for playing, satisfying my need to know they were really French. He couldn’t have made me happier when he responded: It wahz a pleajzure, dude. I ended up buying a shirt.
The Know ends shows pretty strictly at eleven, which is kind of a blessing if you ever feel like bands are playing too long of sets and that just once it’d be nice to get some sleep before you work. There were only three bands on the bill, and everyone knew it was the Big One up next. Bathroom breaks were taken, beers were bought. I’ve never seen more people crowded into the Know’s venue space before. Tragedy took their time setting up as the audience stood expectantly, anticipating.
I instantly recognized the first song from its intense and melodic riff. It was the closest thing Tragedy has to a hit single– one of those songs that transcend the dissonance and rough edges of a genre and worm their way into the ears of the not-yet-believers. It was “The Day After,” and I knew all of this because my very not crusty girlfriend recognized it immediately. There were shouts and headbanging and there I was, packed tight in the crowd watching a cult band command the room. For not playing in a long while, they sounded tight as ever, loud as ever, squeezing the best sound I’ve heard out of the Know’s small space.
Todd Burdette didn’t scream so much as expel venom, like every word was another drop of poison and his music was his body rejecting it, one word at a time. A small but intimate mosh pit broke out over the course of the set, a rarity at the Know, as it is usually a more beer-in-hand crowd. But, that’s what Tragedy brings out in their audience.
The music was relentlessly heavy, and I felt the joy in unironically being able to flash metal hands for the first time. They finished up six minutes before eleven and left the stage. There was no encore. No flash, no bullshit, no proselytizing, no merch, no stage gimmicks; they played their music and soon they were with the rest of us; chatting and smiling, shaking hands and drinking beer.
Seeing Tragedy is seeing the pinnacle of a genre. There’s something magical about seeing a band at the top of their game. I’ve been lucky enough to see a few bands like that. There was Against Me! and Bomb the Music Industry!, the Taxpayers and Hot Water Music, and now there is Tragedy. There’s a whole lot of different sounds possible at the fretting hand of rebellious and independent rock music, but when a band nails it, no matter how they nail it, it’s the same catharsis. This particular brand is the radiation scarred and limbless, downtrodden outcasts of a deserted world. They’re the most extreme version of ourselves, our darkest moments painted in the blackest black. And we wander as they wander; crushing chords and dark melodies dancing between our ears.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012 at 11:58 AM (PST) by Carson Winter
Tragedy is back with soaring melodies, throaty bellows, and apocalyptic doom– and while they’re brand of melodic crust punk may not be for everybody, those with the proper predispositions will be awed. Darker Days Ahead is a testament to the importance of music outside the mainstream, a work of art that epitomizes words like ‘underground’ and ‘independent.’ Tragedy may not be outside the realms of accessibility in some circles, and to be fair, a large part of their sound roams outside the walls of punk rock and into the world of heavy metal, but their independent spirit and basic, fundamental musical groundings make them into something of a latter day Fugazi. No internet presence, no labels, no rules; this is the purity we always talk about wanting in punk rock; that feeling of open-wound-honesty– an artist burning the veil and letting the listener see the world without pretense or censorship. This is that record, and even without it sounding like much of the music that inhabits the scene to day, it undoubtedly begs to be listened to.
Having four full-lengths released before Darker Days Ahead, Tragedy is anything but a newcomer. But while mainstream punk culture remains fairly oblivious to both their existence and importance, their sound remains a revelation to the converted. Tragedy’s roots lay in the sound of Discharge and hardcore, but heavier. Todd Burdette provides a deep growl that sounds something like years of rage, injustice, and hatred being rewarded with an appropriately threatening voice. While atypical for hardcore, and perhaps against its core tenets, the growling allows the voice to become another instrument, making the music an indecipherable message you have to feel to unlock.
Darker Days Ahead succeeds because of the music though, and not just their DIY ethics, and to be sure, the album is filled with worthwhile songs that’ll have your heart pumping venom in no time. Album opener, “No Cemeteries Here,” kicks off the album with all the heaviness one would expect, with dark melodies and an awesome acoustic interlude. “Close At Hand” features some of my favorite instrumental work, which includes a magnificent bass line and some seriously powerful guitar leads. But to single out any song’s fretwork on Darker Days Ahead is a disservice, for every song on this album has at least one memorable riff. Final track, “To Earth Like Dust” is another standout, complete with minor melodies and a catchy, despite being growled, verse that is driven by it’s galloping rhythm.
The best thing that can be said about Darker Days Ahead is that it’s another Tragedy album. It’s a little slower, more experimental, but ultimately it’s still Tragedy. It’s loud, ferocious, and technically competent. It straddles genres like it was born to confound audiences. It’s punk rock for the darkest days of our lives, where the world finally closes in on us and we’re left powerless–screaming, clawing, hating– using up our last moments as violently as possible. That’s Tragedy. That’s catharsis.