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Connecticut was an exciting place to be in the early nineties if you were a Hardcore kid. The CT Punk institution known as The Anthrax had recently closed down and there were a shitload of pissed off, disenfranchised kids just aching for release. A few people picked up the reigns and started doing shows for a slew of new local outfits. At the top of the heap were a powerhouse from Danbury called Dismay, lead by a charismatic, tattooed mountain of a kid known as Ian. Anybody around back then can remember sweaty rec halls and dark clubs packed to the rafters when Dismay played. Ian would emerge amongst a wall of churning guitar, swinging a mic stand and bellowing at the top of his lungs. Their shows became crazed events around which local legend began to swirl. For the next several years it seemed every band within a 100 mile radius aped Dismay’s sound; a clever hybrid of brick-heavy, Sabbath-esque groove, tense riffage and forward-thinking songwriting, brought together by an inherent sense of classic Hardcore aggression. A few years later, you’d hear similar sounds coming from corporate-rock radio stations, but watered down, homogenized and much less convincing. Like most good bands that spring from the Hardcore scene, things seemed to implode for Dismay at the height of their popularity and creative zenith.
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