Arcanum

Show Me the Body make confrontational, scuffed-raw hardcore from New York's underground, and a track titled "Arcanum" promises their signature alchemy of noise and ritual. The trio's defining weapon is a distorted banjo run through enough grit to sound like a malfunctioning machine, set against pummeling drums and sludgy low-end, so the result lands somewhere between hardcore punk, industrial and noise rock. Vocals are barked and corroded — more exorcism than singing — spitting paranoia, class rage and urban claustrophobia. "Arcanum," meaning secret or hidden knowledge, suits a band whose whole project feels like buried truths dragged into daylight: surveillance, gentrification, the body as a site of resistance. There's a communal, almost cultic energy to it, fitting for a group that built the Corpus collective and DIY networks championing outsider art. This isn't music for passive listening; it's built for sweat-drenched basement shows and mosh pits, catharsis that registers as physical. Culturally they occupy the abrasive edge of contemporary NYC hardcore, uninterested in polish or crossover appeal. Play it loud when you need to exorcise something — anger, dread, the static of the city pressing in — and let the abrasion do the work that calm never could.