If D.B.C had been born, raised and bred on New York’s Lower East Side during mid-eighties instead of learning to thrash in Montreal and had spent their days hanging out, and hustling, with the Cro-Mags and duking it out Slayer every time they came to town, then they would have sounded exactly like Enforced.
Harder than trying to memorise Pi to the sixteenth thousand place, Enforced put their foot on the heavy pedal and hammer their crossover powered tunes home with all the subtly of an out of control armoured, fully loaded with nuclear ordinance, freight train. At the Walls is the compressed, undiluted, raw sound of a lifetime of repressed pain and anger let loose on an unsuspecting and unprepared world.
Enforced don’t believe in wasting time, they know just how precious a commodity it is and on At the Walls they get straight to the point and do what they do best. They bring the pain and they thrash like there’s no tomorrow, whipping up a maelstrom of musical destruction that will please even the most pit happy Hardcore kid and mosh hardened thrasher. Let the slamming begin… Tim Cundle