HATEBREED CREW

They've written some of the most punishing riffs in history, shared stages with everyone from Ozzy to Motorhead and sold over 300,000 records, with virtually no promotion, prior to landing a major label deal. They've demolished recording studios, laid waste to hotel rooms and laid down the details of some truly hard times.

But make no mistake about it. Hatebreed isn't a band. It's a movement.

When they hit the road with iconic bands like Slayer or Murphy's Law, when they're featured in the pages of a slick magazine, or when a kid sees frontman Jamey Jasta hosting MTV2's newly resurrected "Headbanger's Ball," it's an epic moment for an entire community. And that's because Hatebreed isn't just representing themselves - they're championing an international family of friends, bands, promoters, fanzines and kids. Hatebreed are the standard-bearer for a burgeoning underground hardcore scene: war-painted heroes charging forward into the mainstream with a pack of screaming soldiers behind them. Hatebreed is the collective voice of "the others" - the downtrodden, the dispossessed- holding the torch aloft for everyone who has ever been cast aside.

"Kids come up to me at every show, all over the world - even in places where English isn't the first language," Jamey says. "I had kids in Greece crying, holding my hand, saying, 'I feel like you're my brother.' Kids have our lyrics tattooed on their bodies all over the world." The same kind of solidarity teenage headbangers experienced in early thrash, the sweaty catharsis punks embraced in Black Flag, today it lives and breathes in this band.

"When I was a kid listening to records, that really was an escape for me," Jamey explains. "I don't really like to get too deep into personal stuff lyrically, but I get into it enough where it feels like anyone can interpret it the way they want to, and also feel what I'm going through. They feel the rage and the aggression that I want to get out during that particular song. The music allows me to talk about it as much as I want to, publicly, and get that closure. And reach other kids who rely on the music to get them through, just like I have - basically to try to give back what I have been given. And being able to do all that is the most rewarding thing."

Hatebreed wrote 'The Rise Of Brutality,' their much-anticipated follow-up to 2002's acclaimed 'Perseverance,' the same way they crafted their first demo in Connecticut nearly ten years ago - gathering in a basement and jamming, narrowing it down to just over thirty minutes of passionate, sing-along ready musical exorcism. "The first time we jammed out 'Live for This' and I sang it, I got chills," Jasta reports. "I could just picture 4000 kids at Hellfest or Ozzfest just singing every word."

The band was determined to turn a corner with 'The Rise Of Brutality' and yet equally intent on doing so without compromising or letting anyone down. The end result is an album that is filled with as many meditations on betrayal, bitterness and anger as calls for unity, solidarity and struggle. "I'm never gonna be without something to sing about," promises Jasta. "People say to me all the time, 'What do you have to be so angry about?' It's never gonna be totally good. That's life. There's always going to be negative and positive. That's what our records represent. For every 'Live for This,' there's a 'Doomsayer' or a 'Call for Blood.'"

On this album, Sean's guitars are more punishing than ever, Matt pummels his drums with heretofore un-charted abandon and Beattie's bass lines rhythmically snake a path across any moshpit's floor. Jasta's throaty Molotov cocktails are barked more clearly than ever,"The vocals are a little bit lower and the approach a little bit more in your face and maniacal," he says "I also tried to enunciate more." He adds, "We wanted to make this one a little more brutal than 'Perseverance' but at the same time catchier. It's a good balance." The band streamlined every song into a savagely potent, surgically precise and ferociously driving anthem without losing one drop of the band's trademark bile. Conjuring walls of devastatingly crunching guitars and savage steamroller rhythms, the band mastered a formula that includes the best parts of death metal, thrash-punk and New York City style hardcore - something akin to Sick of It All in a backyard brawl with Slayer.

Hatebreed's particular brand of 'balance' means Jamey having to juggle leading a band, managing several up-and-coming acts, hosting a show for MTV2, raising a family, running a label imprint and booking shows. It's baffling how they can still find time to provide that much needed voice to their constituency, but they do. As "You're Never Alone" proudly declared, "this is for the kids who have nowhere to turn." "I had people within my closest circle of friends, when I played them that song, say to me, 'don't you think that's a little cheesy dude?'" Jamey says. "But that's how I feel. I don't care who thinks it's cheesy." "I was one of those kids, when my father was locked away in the hospital and my mother was working at night, that's what I did. I listened to hardcore."

"I know there are a lot of kids that don't have problems and they like Hatebreed, too," he concludes. "I'm just trying to make music that's fulfilling to me, but I definitely consider the people that rely on this stuff to maybe just get them through a traffic jam, or get them through a hard time, or maybe just give 'em a half-hour of enjoyment."

'The Rise Of Brutality' clocks in at 32 solid minutes of enjoyment, to be exact - as brief as many of the band's favorite records from iconic bands in the heavy music lexicon - Slayer's "Reign in Blood" chief among them. And like the road dogs they've proven to be, Hatebreed plans to take their latest musical sermon to the masses. "Now is the time" for their style of music, and as more and more bands from their 'scene' continue to bubble up from the underground, they look to Hatebreed. They are the band whose leadership, passion and indestructible credibility sets the right example for fans and friends alike.