Mercyland's long-lost sparks ignite again on new self-titled album

There’s something electrifying about hearing a band mid-explosion, captured in the thrilling blur of becoming. 'Mercyland', the newly unearthed collection from the Athens trio of the same name, is exactly that: a document of a group figuring out who they were in real time, slashing through the American underground with raw instinct and zero interest in restraint. These recordings, snatched from a five-year window between 1985 and 1987, capture the trio at their most tenacious.

Even after decades spent behind the desk sculpting other artists’ records, David Barbe’s earliest work still crackles with a sense of danger and discovery. You can hear it from the opening punch of 'Amerigod', a track that lunges forward with wiry guitars and a rhythm section that feels permanently on the edge of breaking loose. It’s chaotic in the most vital way, and built on the kind of youthful certainty that punk always promised.

What makes this release so gripping is the way it maps a band moving at breakneck speed through ideas, gear, and stages of identity. The blistering 'Vomit Clown' and 'City of Embers' hold the grime of their earliest sessions, recorded fast and loud, amps bleeding into room mics, everything held together by sheer will. Then, as the years tick on, the production opens up, revealing sharper edges and a wirier precision on tracks like 'Black on Black on Black' and 'Ciderhead'. You can practically hear the miles of touring etched into the playing.

And then there’s the raucous live-studio take of 'Nightfall', a burst of adrenaline committed straight to tape. It’s a reminder of a time when capturing a moment mattered more than sculpting one.

What’s striking is how forward-leaning these songs now feel. While Mercyland drew from the collision of punk and alt-rock that defined the era, the songwriting hints at the widescale shifts that would shape the next decade. Hooks hide beneath the noise, melodic instincts peek through the grit, and the refusal to sit still places the collection closer to proto-indie-rock than simple nostalgia bait.

For all its ferocity, 'Mercyland' is also unexpectedly moving. These tracks are snapshots of a group that didn’t yet realise it was laying groundwork for the future, both their own and the scenes that followed. Hearing them now feels like witnessing the spark before the fire.

After years buried in tapes and memory, 'Mercyland' finally gets its rightful place above ground. And the revelation is clear, this was a force burning bright, too briefly, but brightly enough that the glow still hits like a revelation.