Walls – Endeavour of Adaptation

Many may not be accustomed to the atmosphere Walls have sequestered in for some time now, but under safe regard as to whether or not you know this infinitesimal slice of Belgian metallic hardcore, it can be postulated that both resulting alternatives land us in the same destination of query: who is this band and why haven’t I heard of them? Reviewing key factors such as their hiatus, scarce discography, and humble following may present us with the blatant truth, but as soon as the air molecules crush under the weight of this band’s tailored vibrations, the answer doesn’t appear so self-evident. For underground lurkers of new age metallic hardcore, the salivary glands of those most ravenous may be exhausted after the discovery (or rediscovery) of the project devised by Ziggy Coertjens (vocals), Max Everaert (guitar), Glenn Relaes (guitar), Anthony Joosen (bass) and Michael Baert (drums).

Six years ceased from existence (one lengthened by the hit of the global pandemic) and only Cult of the Weary attested to the ever-glowing capabilities to those who, by the twist of fate, stumbled across the underground five-piece. Their 2017 EP debut grounded a capable interdependence that bestrode the dissonant stallion of punishing modern core. But this ‘new’ Walls we see before us in flame-orange hue is incandescent; poetic of a phoenix rising from the ashes, and one they strictly define as an “eclectic combination of metal, hardcore, post-punk and nu-metal.” Inside the 2023 re-establishment, Endeavour of Adaptation not only stokes the fire of new beginnings, but carries a weighted heart that beat strongly in its predecessor.

Walls have devised a clever reprisal in conglomeration of everything that has been and everything that is to be – with even the record title taste testing this idea. The sophomore begins with a back-of-the-mix feedback that continues on from Cult of the Weary’s fading finale, and the animatronic building anthropomorphises itself as a conductor with a baton of brutality on the right, and a naked left hand that can switch on Hells’ new-found heaviness at any given moment. Although their debut lacks any surface-level attention from the five-piece, the echo of a distant past resonates within the anatomy, and the same tasteful fury six years preceding still, to this day, makes our faces scrunch and heads nod. The truest beauty of all is the devil is in the details with Endeavour of Adaptation, and in reference of Claude Debussy’s famous line “music is the space between the notes” that can be used in comparison to Cult of the Weary, the new release is evermore grinding. The songs’ corset are loosen and relaxed, allowing for structures to breathe and let the fine-drawn influences – from the jumpy, Slipknotesque breakbeat sample in “The Hanged Man” to the industrialised beginning of “Quicksand” – to kick us back down after we just about get up.

The new countenance of Walls is not only refreshing, but also separated and spliced, something of a Harvey Dent figure that feels so uncertainly familiar as to be reputable in its newest consideration. It beholds a great something, and I use that term as carefully as the band need to be with their future endeavours. Whether they prove capable of stardom or stock value is entirely conditional on their response to this current moment in time. But if after testing the waters of Endeavour of Adaptation, you find yourself scurrying online to support this band in any means necessary, then Walls’ anticipated metallic resurgence has successfully rubbed off on you.

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