Slaughter to Prevail

You know what? There are just some people who can go and spectacularly fuck themselves.

Today, I had the distinct pleasure of being publicly called out by someone who really should mind their own business. It took every ounce of self-control not to stand up, slap them across the face, and storm out in a blaze of petty glory.

I didn’t—because, unfortunately, life requires a shred of decorum.  So I stayed seated. I’m pretty sure my voice and facial expression slipped just a tad. But there you go. I did my fucking best.

Fast forward to 9 PM: I am at home, still seething, bottle of beer in hand. And by sheer cosmic accident—or maybe divine trolling—I discover a band called Slaughter to Prevail. And I am being obliterated.

Let’s be clear: I have no clue what I’m listening to.

I’m just sitting here, thinking:

"What kind of stupid name is Slaughter to Prevail?"

It’s not catchy. It’s not clever. It sounds like the sort of name you’d come up with at 2 AM on an energy drink bender—and yet here I am, subjecting myself to it voluntarily.

And this is deeply confusing, because I don’t normally take to death metal. More importantly, I am a fierce and strict hater of anything that ends in -core. Metalcore? Deathcore? Grindcore? No thanks.

So what the fuck is going on here that I am willingly letting my insides be rearranged by Russian bear growls and machine-gun blast beats?

Alright. First stop on this doomed expedition: Metal Archives. Because if there’s one place you can always count on to categorise even the most obscure nonsense, it’s the absolute heroes running that site.

Except—nothing.

They don’t even have an entry. Not a scrap. Not a footnote. That is—wow.

You only manage that if you are:

a) not really metal, or

b) so mainstream it physically pains me.

I still don’t know which category this band falls into, and that alone is giving me heart palpitations.

Fine. Wikipedia it is.

Slaughter to Prevail is a Russian deathcore band, founded in 2014 in Yekaterinburg and now—somehow—based in Orlando, Florida. (Really?)

The only constant founding members are Alex Terrible (oh COME ON) on vocals and Jack Simmons, a British guitarist. Apparently, they started out with an EP in 2015 and followed up with a debut album in 2017.

The one I’m listening to—Kostolom—is their second record, finally released in 2021 after drip-feeding singles for two years straight.

I don’t care about the earlier or later stuff. I’m not about to start a deathcore pilgrimage. This is just a glitch in the matrix.

Twenty seconds later, blast beats detonate in your face and the guitars start riffing you into submission. There’s Russian, there’s rapping, there’s an atmosphere so nu-metal I’m having actual Fred Durst flashbacks.

Did I mention I hate Limp Bizkit? Always have. With a passion.

And yet—somehow—this song seriously slaps.

Here’s the thing: the minute I started researching, I was already bored.

Apparently, Alex Terrible is exactly as cringeworthy as you’d expect. Really? Why am I not surprised? And as for his—let’s call them enthusiastically macho views and questionable affiliations—again, stunningly predictable.

Honestly, between the name, the aesthetic, and the lyrical content, it all feels like part of the same tired package.

So I’m stopping right here, right now. I’m not going to do any serious research into this band. Because I already know this will never be more than a genre tourism one-night stand. Let’s just leave it at that.

The whole album is twelve songs and forty-nine minutes. And honestly, I’m not going to make it through the whole thing.

What is there to say, really?

This is the kind of music you put on when you’re two beers deep, freshly humiliated by a PTA meeting, and need something loud enough to drown out your own poor life choices.

And it does that job spectacularly.

But let’s be honest—once the adrenaline wears off, it’s about as nuanced as a brick through a window. There’s no depth. No cleverness. Nothing here that’s going to reward a second listen, unless I’m drunk again and genuinely considering petty arson.

Which, in fairness, is probably the point.

So yes—music like this should exist. It’s a sonic sledgehammer for when you can’t afford therapy. It served me exactly as intended tonight.

 And tomorrow, I’ll wake up, see this in my “recently played,” and feel a small, precise wave of shame.

So that’s it. My short, questionable fling with Slaughter to Prevail.

No profound insights. No newfound appreciation for deathcore. Just Russian growls and breakdowns acting as a substitute for better coping mechanisms.

I learned nothing. I enjoyed everything more than I’m comfortable admitting.

And I absolutely do not plan to make a habit of this.