Malignant Nation, Shea Hardacre's second tape in his power electronics moniker Clotting, is more solidified static discomfort, like being trapped in a burning house. "Malignant" often means infected or virulent, but I think, in regards to what's described, the phrase "fixin' to die" is most apt. Though that adjective sets the tone, the noun is the identifier. The title lends itself to some heavy, pretty widely-acknowledged ugly truths about the reluctantly shattered, so-called United States of America, the word "United" being a bit of a misnomer - structurally perhaps, but ideologically, socio-economically, or even physically (thanks a lot, Alaska), well, not so much.
The tape itself begins with a sample of two men speaking - one explains and directs as the other indignantly, quasi-rebelliously takes it up the ass, so to speak. "Freedom" becomes dangerous. "Happiness" becomes a method of control. And authority becomes total control. It's an excellent foreground to Shea's dissatisfaction and honest dissection of a broken system, which make up the lyrical side of the release. Who dies for whom? For what? When do people become commodities? Does the value of a human life rest only in the security it can give?
There are some seriously fierce sections. Clotting is dissonant by nature, but Shea's subject matter and vocal delivery seal the deal. This shit isn't make believe. It's observant and poignant. It's someone sadly tapping you on the shoulder to shrug, smirk, and say "You're fucked! You're totally fucked!" Thanks, Shea. Look at what you did, you little jerk.