e are gathered here, in the presence of God, to bid a fond, final farewell to Botch. Inspiring, original and loved, Botch has left this world for the next, leaving behind what we all hope to leave when we pass into that dark night: a mark on the world, a legacy and warm memories to comfort those who survive us.


“For Botch, those survivors are many. Botch’s expanded vision of what heavy music was capable of possessing and expressing affected all who encountered it. Botch was a furious blessing. In their hands, the muscles of hardcore actually flexed, the equations of math-rock were finally solved, the fury of heavy metal learned to think out loud; not just teaching, but berating and chastising all those who were unwilling to take up the torch and run with it. ‘Make this music better,’ they screamed. Of those who listened, few were up to the task of expanding on Botch’s template. Most merely emulated -- and continue to emulate -- the band to meagre results. But in this time of sorrow, we must not decry those bands’ lack of originality. Let us rather focus on the flattery their imitation implies.


“Earlier this year, Botch bravely announced that they had been diagnosed with Premature Band Dissolution, and we cried out: ‘how can this be?’ It has only been a few short years since they levelled us with the untouchable and at times indescribable We Are the Romans, and now we will never know just what kind of a future awaited this talented, young combo.


“To aid us with our sorrow, Botch has left us with one final explosion. With An Anthology of Dead Ends, Botch exits this world as few bands before them have: at the same level of excellence they were at when they crafted their masterwork. True, there is little progression to be found and little, if any, improvement of the methods at work on We Are the Romans, but what progress was possible? What improvement was needed?


“That is not to say this e.p. is redundant. Anthology is required listening for anyone fond of aggressive music, a wonderful blend of turgid and sparse, head-scratching and chest-beating, math-rock and hardcore. More intricate than it is complicated, Anthology is full of driving, harsh rock music that is spotted with unexpected uppercuts of guitar squawking and unforeseeable forays into the sparse and the melodic.


“So violent, but so comforting is this release. ‘Spaim’ is everything the band can do: a sandblast of jagged, demented jangling and razor-molasses bass that descends from full-throttle assault to shuddering heaviness to spare paranoia. ‘Framce’ is gymnastics in razorwire; the guitars hand-springing over the rhythm section’s immoveable pummel horse. ‘Viet Mam’ and ‘Micarauga’ are both grating, dynamic seizures; the latter a malevolent pounding, the former a whipping, unstoppable crash. Most magical, however, may be ‘Afghamistam’: six minutes of piano, strings and gentle Jesus Lizard bass notes which, while lilting and mysterious, remains firm and unforgettable.


“There is no perfect way to say goodbye to anything. You will always forget something; your words will always fall short of the appreciation you feel. But we try. With this inferiority in mind, it may seem futile to eulogize or pray; and it is, but only for us. We say these words and release our tears not for ourselves but for those who are gone, who touched us, who have found a way to live on without their bodies. And we are heard.


“For all you have done and for giving us one last glimpse of your manic genius, I say thank you, Botch. And goodbye. May you look down from above knowing you made a difference. May you remain forever proud. May you rest in peace.


“Who would like to say a few words?”