The world of Dilate’s modern brand of metal

is all black chrome and gunmetal gray, a place

where iron-forged roaring fury is only

occasionally offset by what passes for peace and

quiet here – the kind of creepy, paranoid calm

the prey experiences just before the predator

explodes from the bushes … and it always


Statement to the World is the

hard-hitting product of “four dudes that love

heavy f***ing metal” and pour every ounce of

themselves into showing it. Dilate reflect (but

don’t copy) influences like Corrosion of

Conformity and Pantera, piling on the riffage

while riding the knife edge between tunefulness

and raw aggression. Slow builds lead to

inevitable, powerful blowups throughout the

album, while guitars march, swoop and attack

incessantly. The title track features a

pneumatically pounding riff before heading into a

thundering breakdown that sounds like a giant’s

footsteps; impassioned, melodic vocals give way

to raging, barely human howls as the tune


“Act of Desperation” begins with an eerily

low-key figure (think Tool) before it bursts open

with humming and buzzing guitars that wouldn’t

sound out of place on an early Smashing Pumpkins

record – that is, if maybe Clutch had hijacked

the session. Relentlessly pounding drums

highlight this album-opening track. “Separate My

Life” establishes a hectic pace with impressive

guitar work from start to finish, including a

Deftones-esque bridge and a brief but memorable

solo that notches up the intensity of an already

crackling tune. The schizophrenic “Truth be Told”

might nearly pass for an Incubus tune until

Dilate’s irrepressible cumulative rage pushes it

into overdrive.

The album features the production talents of Tim

Bushong, who achieves the same sonic heft and

clarity he’s known for on other Smash Alley

releases. The mix is clean but dense,

complementing the band’s sound well.

A prime cut from Statement to the World

is “Nothing’s Left,” which opens with an

interesting kind of clanking robo-blues.

Predictably, the door is soon blown off its

hinges by the air coming off the speakers as the

song escalates; then suddenly a lucid and serene

midsection lulls you into leaning in to hear it

more closely. Sucker. The bomb drops (again) and

you spend the remainder of the song picking your

ears out of the back wall. Mind you, this is a

good thing.

Catch Dilate in round two of the whatzup

Battle of the Bands at Columbia Street on July

27, and be sure to check out and