No Frills Reviews

Taking the pretension out of music reviews.

Album Review: Angry Blackmen – The Legend of ABM

The Chicago duo delve into a post-apocalyptic dystopia with their harsh yet compelling industrial rap

I’m not sure what epitomises this album best. It may be that an angry refrain of “FUCK OFF” is perhaps the record’s biggest hook. Or maybe it’s the artwork; eerie and ominous, implying unspoken horrors lurking beneath but also plain to see. On their second album, the Chicago duo of Brian Warren and Quentin Branch immerse you into an industrial dystopia. While grinding away at their dreams of rap success is often at the fore, it’s set against a post-apocalyptic backdrop, both implied and explicit in the scores of sci-fi references.

It sounds like they’ve been given a template of early Tyler, The Creator and Odd Future; with an instruction to make it darker and generally less palatable. I say this as a positive BTW. They rap to a soundtrack of disaster; the distant explosions that open the album, the 1-2 punch of deep bass on FNA, or the machine gun firing line on Outsiders. And when the physical aggression subsides, it’s often replaced by abrasive electronics; glitching machines and static squeals.

This is the sound of creeping dread; of systems creaking under the pressure, and a world being torn apart slowly but violently. Yet, amidst all this destruction, the album’s most haunting moment comes in human form with the arrival of rap’s grim reaper, Fatboi Sharif, on Dead Men Tell No Lies. The song itself seems to become absorbed in the compelling presence of the New Jersey rapper. You’re never quite sure what’s just happened after hearing a Sharif verse but you know it was disturbingly thrilling. An otherworldly cryptic prophet who fits perfectly into ABM’s dystopian doom.

Now, for as bleak a picture as this paints, these beats are kinda banging though – “This that rap caviar shit mixing with the mosh pit.” And if you didn’t know that industrial funk was possible then just listen to GRIND and Sabotage. As challenging as it may initially sound, all those drones and glitches go fucking hard.

Both Warren and Branch are captivating rappers, capable of seamlessly blending the fantastic with the matter-of-fact. They really bring the humanity to this hellscape, making it genuinely enjoyable rather than a purely experimental exercise. And while they only allow the briefest glimmer of hope, a potentially trite line like “I believe in the youth, I got faith in you” feels deeply consequential here, standing as a stark contrast to its surroundings.

Ultimately, what is slowly revealed across The Legend of ABM is that this dystopia isn’t an elaborate sci-fi scene of an imagined future. And there’s no mythical monsters or demons here. The horror that lurks is reality. It’s existential dread. It’s systemic oppression. It’s a society where they’re destined to fail – “Black individual trapped in the matrix.” Where, even if you conform, you’re fucked – “I got a desk job, somehow I still feel like I’m losing.” That soundtrack of disaster isn’t all about literal explosions and gunshots, it represents what’s happening inside. This is where good men turn bad, and this is how monsters are made.

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