The Exploited's "The Massacre": a 1990 gut-punch with UK82 dirt still under its nails

Album Description:

I always laugh when people file "The Massacre" under “1982 UK82 essentials.” Wrong year, right attitude. This one lands in 1990, when The Exploited were already seasoned, scarred, and leaning hard into a tougher, more metallic grind. It doesn’t ask permission. It barges in, boots first, and leaves scuff marks on your speakers.

The first thing that hits me isn’t “history” or “context.” It’s the sound of a band that’s stopped pretending it’s polite punk for polite people. There’s crossover bite all over this record—punk speed with thrash muscle—and it suits them. By the time a track like "Boys in Blue" swings in, you can almost feel the grin: not a happy one. The other kind.

Wattie’s voice here isn’t some neat “guttural howl” out of a brochure. It’s a rasped, clenched-through-the-teeth rant—like he’s arguing with the room, and the room keeps losing. Then the band locks in behind him and shoves. Hard.

The titles tell you the mindset without any helpful subtitles from me: "Don't Pay the Poll Tax", "Police Shit", "Stop the Slaughter". Late-80s/early-90s Britain wasn’t exactly a warm bath, and this record doesn’t try to be one either. It’s the sound of someone kicking back at a world that keeps leaning on them. Messy? Sure. But it’s honest in the way a raised fist is “honest.”

There’s also that nasty little detail: the intro comes from the 1978 shock film Faces of Death. Subtlety was clearly not invited to this session. It’s grim, it’s deliberately uncomfortable, and it tells you up front what kind of ride you’ve stepped onto. No safety bar. No refund.

One practical note (because I like my facts to survive contact with reality): if you came here expecting the chant-and-charge stuff like "UK 82" or "War", that’s "Troops of Tomorrow" (1982)—different album, earlier era, more straight UK82 street-punk spine. "The Massacre" is the later bruise: heavier, harsher, and not particularly interested in nostalgia.

My favorite way to “place” this album is stupidly ordinary: late evening, volume a bit too high, kettle forgotten, and the sleeve sitting on the table like it’s daring you to say it’s “too much.” That’s the point. If you want tasteful, put on something tasteful. This record wants a reaction.

Call it UK82’s bad hangover in 1990. Call it UK84 if you want to be extra rebellious with your calendar. Either way: "The Massacre" isn’t here to be liked. It’s here to be felt. And it doesn’t care if that feeling is irritation.

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