Returning from a distant and dystopian future, imagined from the worst excesses of 80s Hollywood, come Arnocorps to punish and terminate Brighton.
Devout apostles of that pumped-up Austrian beefcake, Arnocorps worship at the altar of all things Schwarzenegger: their hyped-up steroid induced hosannas are violent blasts of unpleasant hardcore/metal and skate-punk.
Monosyllabic vocals are delivered in the patter of the former Mr Universe. The song’s themes don’t veer far from the most brainless of his flicks and are eulogised by a phony Austrian mountain mythology perpetuated and invented by the band. Who in actual origin, hail from San Francisco; how they must have loved Arnie’s stint as the 38th Governor of California.
Expect some scary looking dudes in camouflaged war paint and GI fatigues who’ll be rocking a set that’s all post-traumatic stress disorder and crazed combat aggression: but essentially, just riotous dumb-ass fun.