Melodic crust sounds like a paradox or a contradiction in terms, but in the hands of Habak, a screamo band from Tijuana, Mexico, there is no contradiction, only a confident declaration. I love it when a band finds and fully embraces their own unique sound. That is absolutely the case with Habak. No one else takes what should be two completely disparate styles and brings them together so seamlessly. The rough and raw production of crust punk and the guitar harmonies of melodic hardcore aren’t exactly oil and water, but at a passing glance they wouldn’t necessarily be expected to join together with such cohesion.
On their third full-length Mil orquídeas en medio del desierto, the Mexican punks have brought forth arguably their most intricate and well-orchestrated album to date. What roughly translates to ‘A thousand orchids in the middle of the desert’ is an exceptional title that embraces the duality of their sound completely. Beautiful flowers in harsh environs – what better visual for crust melódico could there be? Orquídeas starts off with the melodic gear fully engaged. The opening of this album is soft and beautiful with just a touch of foreboding. Title track “Mil orquídeas en medio del desierto” welcomes you in delicately, even as the harsh vocals enter and the instrumentation intensifies it’s with a warm embrace. In fact, this could be said of the album as a whole. For a screamo record it is incredibly comforting even in its heaviest moments.
“Manual of a Shipwreck” opens with post-metal guitar line swirls. There’s that melodic side again, but it’s set against the juxtaposition of harsh vocal lines growled along steadily if unrushed. In contrast to a lot of screamo, Habak are in no particular hurry. They aren’t just screaming and shredding away frantically. Their pace is more deliberate, pulling more from sludge and doom than emoviolence. “Manual” is one of several tracks through the middle portion of Orquídeas that are only around three minutes long, but because of smart choices in composition, Habak stretches these moments out and makes them last. For another example see the spoken word sections on “Alienación y delirio” (‘Alienation and delirium‘), which add variety and a grounding human element.
Habak have strong punk roots and DIY mentality etched into their very soul. The band is self-managed and they screen print their own merch by hand with love. They are as comfortable packing out a cement brick warehouse as they are at a festival like New Friends Fest, all while championing causes that are close to their hearts, like anarchism and veganism, with shirts boldly proclaiming ‘No Borders, No Cages’ and artwork in partnership with fellow anarchist DIY punker and graphic designer Alex CF of Fall of Efrafa and Morrow. There is a gritty down-to-earth roughness to their album art and design elements that amplifies the visceral nature of their ethos.
For more of their complexity as artists and musicians look no further than “Notas sobre el olvido” (‘Notes on oblivion‘), which has of all things an acoustic guitar intro and clean vocals rarely heard from Habak woven together with some of the harshest most aggressive moments anywhere on Orquídeas. The track is emblematic of their ability to combine otherwise antithetical styles, shifting effortlessly between them and expanding beyond limitations.
Ok, remember what I said about Habak leaning towards the slower, doom-driven chugs on this album? Don’t tell that to the whole middle section of “Hacia el abismo” (‘Towards the Abyss‘). The energy here is completely unhinged, but then, flowing out of all this fast-paced anarchy, there’s a breakdown and shift towards a melodic section which builds off of all that intensity. Like a gentle dust cloud blooming out of heavy bombardment. Again Habak showcases their fusion of abrasion and delicacy. The weight of the track is only increased by the lyrics which narrate our slow decline into late-stage capitalism and the social upheaval that is beginning to feel ever present. I’m happy to employ all two years of high school Spanish I have under my belt to completely butcher the translation of an especially poignant section: ‘The omnipresent crisis narrative/reduces us to spectators of the twilight/of a civilization that never ends/a collapse that seems to have no end/a slow wait / a discouraging future.’
Closing track “Dejemos hablar al viento” (‘Let the wind speak‘) is epic in sound and as the longest track on Orquídeas at almost seven minutes. “Viento” builds slowly into a devastating midsection only to fall downward into an ethereal interlude rising outward once again on violent winds to new heights. All told, it makes for one hell of a send off. Many of the sonic themes expressed over the course of the album are revisited and magnified here in the finale, an echoing reverberation of what came before and the subtle promise of more left unspoken or hiding just beneath the surface.
Like so much of the focus on the natural world that Mil orquídeas en medio del desierto embodies, the record itself is cyclical, both sonically and through a thematic exploration of death and rebirth. For all of the anti-capitalist rhetoric and melancholia Habak have also brought forth a surprising amount of joy offering some small amount of hope for the hopeless. Sometimes more overtly with melodic guitars and soft vocal passages and other times written between the lines of anguished growls of pain and smashing drum beats. There’s a flower growing out of a skull on the cover, and there is beauty emerging from decay within.
