Consular is one of the latest in a line of sludgy, grindy, messy, loud bands arising in Miami with one-word names (Capsule, Shitstorm, and so on). Think music by, and largely for, burly, tattooed dudes with beards — in an epically heavy way. The quintet subscribes to the slow-and-stoney school of rock — name-checking highly textured, out-there acts such as Godflesh, Sleep, Cavity, and South Florida legend Floor. On Don't Cross the Swine, the band belches out music as thick as mud, burbling with the same balances of light and dark as the swamps atop which its sunny/shady hometown was built. Part of an emerging local microscene of house shows populated by metal-tinged, straight-up gnarly bands, Consular has gained a beefy leg up on the competition by crawling out of the state on a recent three-week tour. The band promises a second full-length sometime this year.
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