Seitan, Not Satan
Roñoso releases a record
Some people just get it wrong. If the boys of Roñoso were walking down the street, mothers would pitch their babies into traffic before exposing them to the gnarly dreadlocks and general scruffiness of Greg (bass, vocals), Miles (guitar, vocals) and Mike (drums). I don’t want to blow their cover, but despite gutwrenching vocals and heavy crustcore music, the three are some of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. Time and again I’ve seen Roñoso volunteer for the sacrificial opening slot so touring bands can play to the larger late-arriving crowd.
As the Burque show scene goes from good to bad and back again, there’s never a lack of complaint: The scene sucks; nobody cares; where did all my friends go? That, however, is more prevalent in the bar scene, which Roñoso avoids like New Mexico’s own strain of the bubonic plague. The hardcore/
Available via download and on glorious vomit-colored 45 RPM 12-inch vinyl, the latest Roñoso self-release seep and destroy sports the humorous song titles we’ve come to expect from these Marx Brothers of mayhem: “mayonnaise torture,” “furry toes aflame” and “earth ... that septic orb.” No one has ever accused me of knowing anything about hardcore or metal (and rightly so), but I’ll take one Roñoso over 10 Ozzys anytime.