SINGLE REVIEW: Meat Bags – Doom
Meat Bags aren’t here to play nice, and ‘Doom’ makes that crystal clear from the opening riff. This is furious, flaming punk with a snarl you can feel in your teeth—equal parts razor-sharp critique and swaggering, snotty rebellion. Underneath the angular guitars and pounding drums lies a blistering takedown of fast fashion and the culture of instant gratification, and the band delivers it with the kind of venom that feels completely earned.
The guitars shimmer and slash in equal measure—there’s a melodic edge here, but it’s laced with barbs. Drums thump with purpose, each beat landing like a boot to the ribs, and the vocals? Pure fire. Snarling, witty, and full of spit, they tear through the track with articulate rage and punk theatre. There’s something artful in the chaos—this isn’t noise for the sake of it, but noise with a point, loud and clear.
Lyrically, ‘Doom’ lands a punch to the gut of throwaway consumer culture. The lines drip with scorn, targeting the glossy sheen of next-day delivery and bargain-bin trends, peeling it back to reveal the human cost. It’s honest, brutal, and doesn’t flinch. The middle section shifts the tone completely, slowing into a thick, sludgy swirl of doom and prog-tinged weight. It's a sudden drop, heavy and engulfing, like falling through the floor of your own conscience. The anger turns inward, resonating deeper than surface-level outrage.
What makes ‘Doom’ so effective is that it’s not just pissed off for the hell of it—it’s grounded, thoughtful, and fully aware of the world it's spitting at. This is punk that’s flamboyant and filthy, raw and real. The kind of song that rages with purpose and dares you to look away.
Meat Bags aren’t whispering their message. They’re screaming it through grit-stained teeth and punching it into your ears with every riff and roar. ‘Doom’ is more than a protest—it’s a middle finger to apathy, dressed in feedback and flammable hooks.
