Lou Koller has a face built for on-stage contorting, a bouncer's build, and the sort of smoldering menace that comes from a general, vaguely-directed lifelong rage. In fact, for a longer minute than I'd care to admit, I toyed with the idea of padding the rating for this review on the off-chance that I might run into him in an alley someday. He has the sort of persona and physique that could be a fair anthropomorphization of the style of music he and his brother Pete have committed their lives to creating, nurturing, and in some cases, resuscitating. Those poster boy looks, coupled with a career spanning more than 15 years, tempt one to assign lofty and ridiculous titles to him, like "The Godfather of NYC Hardcore." Or maybe just "Sir."

Yeah, the NYC brand of hardcore punk is distinct enough to rate differentiation. There ain't no beach in New York (Coney Island doesn't count-- that's not white sand; it's cigarette butts). No places with fruity, citrus-y names like "Orange County" are found on the maps. Instead, locales bear labels like "Hell's Kitchen" and the mellifluous "The Bronx." And not one of these guys has probably ever touched a skateboard, except perhaps to eat one.

After getting the scene's attention back in 1989 in only the way that releasing a future-classic debut can (Blood, Sweat and No Tears), Sick of It All sustained themselves throughout their long, DIY career much like a man lifting himself into flight by his own hair. Riding out controversy (a mass murderer sporting their t-shirt), poised-for-a-breakthrough major label positioning, and navigating the scene's doldrums; it's all just background noise to Koller & Koller who seem interested only in making music-- loud, prolific, hardcore music.

Yours Truly, their sixth LP, sees Sick of It All taking a chance here and there. But experiments on the tightrope of such a limited genre merely manifest themselves in minutiae such as brief delay effects, or stepping down from adrenaline-fueled cut-time for an entire half song. Still, for bands set in their ways, anything more daring than baby steps is probably ill-advised. To be fair, performing this kind of music is where these guys have made their name, cultivated their reputation, and ultimately, found their fluency.

That said, Yours Truly is a powerful, anthemic Constitution. Koller flexes his vocal muscle on every song, and fifteen years yields-- almost by default-- some pretty damn tight playing. The opener, "Blown Away," is a dark whirlpool of a song with thrash tinges and the aforementioned effects. It instantly, with the inaugural chord, sucks the listener into a churning abyss (there goes Quequeg and his coffin).

Sharp, syncopated drums in the verses underscore some of Koller's most entertaining vocals ever in "America," an upbeat aberration of pop-punk craftsmanship. He almost sounds happy with the world. Well, at least until you hear what he's singing about: "This statistic won't lay down/ Take another or stand in line/ This statistic wants to hear/ That they're guilty of all their crimes." And that's the love song!

"Souvenier" is drummer Armand Majidi's step into the spotlight, and the result is a mid-tempo, punchy duet between him and Koller. If it were ever possible to imagine Sick of It All with a single on your local modern rock station, this would be the candidate. Inconsistents like "Nails" and the wholly anonymous "The Bland Within" and "No Apologies" suffer more from undistinctive songcraft rather than poor execution.

Strangely, metal infiltrates a half-dozen tracks. But its influence is reined in and used sparingly; it doesn't drag down the songs it touches, but neither does it elevate them. Instead, the superlatives materialize in the purist "Hello Pricks" and "Cry for Help." These tracks are undiluted bursts of hardcore as it was meant to be played, and in fact, has been played since the days of Fear, Black Flag, Minor Threat, and a host of acronyms masquerading as bands.

In the final cut, Yours Truly sounds like proof that Sick of It All were paying close attention to their own output and taking valuable lessons from the experience of their last three full-lengths. They put Call to Arms, Built to Last, and Scratch the Surface into a centrifuge and decanted the worst of each album. The result is heavily concentrated, dark and chunky sediment. But that's what they were after, I believe.

-John Dark