Coming of age as a fan of extreme music in New England during the nineties was a real embarrassment of riches situation -- great, groundbreaking bands sprouted up everywhere you turned and you could hit up a solid to amazing show basically every night of the week if you were willing to be in Providence, Rhode Island one night and drive straight to Worcester, Massachusetts the next...after a matinee in Kennebunkport, Maine, of course.
Some of those bands' lights burned bright and short while others are now seminal Decibel Hall of Famers. For a few years amidst this milieu, however, virtually no one could match the intensity, authentic rage, and sheer brutality of Connecticut's best kept metallic hardcore secret, Die My Will.
The band only released two seriously under the radar full-lengths, a seven-inch, and a split with Piecemeal before calling it a day, but rumors of unreleased material for a Equal Vision record that never happened persist.
And, so, with the dual purpose of introducing the Die My Will dark sonic alchemy to new listeners and perhaps -- dare we dream! -- nudging a reunion into being and/or dragging that unreleased material into the light, we called upon members of Trap Them, Author & Punisher, The Hope Conspiracy, All Pigs Must Die, Backstabbers, Inc, and others to testify to the band's power and glory in between sick salvos mined from YouTube.
I'll make it quick, because I could write a book on how much I love them. I don't think any band of the mid- to late 90s meant as much to me as they did. The music of Die My Will was pure violence. In an era where the adjective "brutal" had lost all its meaning, they managed to create an entirely new definition. Every time I saw them play -- and there were many, many times; no venue was too far away to drive to -- I legitimately got goosebumps knowing I was about to witness three men absolutely destroy the stage. It was unhinged rage in its most primal form. They should have headlined every show they were at because any band that was on after them was left wondering how to play to a crowd that had just been torn a new asshole. I still listen to "...and still we destroy" every few days. It's my "stranded on a deserted island" record. Twenty five minutes of music that has made a very strong mark on close to the last twenty years of my life. -- Ryan McKenney, Trap Them
Die My Will was incredibly heavy and simple, w direct songwriting that didn't rely heavily on repetition and pointless screaming; these songs built up to something with very heartfelt, writing vocals and intensity. This band had exactly as many tools as it needed and its minimalism was its strength. I still have their album on a cassette with Neurosis and Fear Factory that I often listen to and has kept me company in the machine shop many a night. -- Tristan Shone, Author & Punisher
DIE MY WILL were one of the best bands I saw in the late 90's. They totally flew under the radar and didn't garner much attention because they were a group of individuals that didn't subscribe to some carbon copy youth crew clown show aesthetic or tough guy posturing which was rampant in those days. It was about music and expression which is what I immediately connected with the first time I saw them. They recorded and released their own material which I truly respected them for. We had some great times on the road together. They were 4 of the nicest guys you would ever meet but their songs sounded like a war. Pure and focused anger, hatred and vitriol was imposed upon the listener. -- Kevin Baker, The Hope Conspiracy/All Pigs Must Die
I've said it before and I'll say it again. Die My Will was one of the best and underrated bands of that -- or any, really -- era. Hands down. They remain one of my go-to bands for inspiration still. The first show I saw was a jaw dropper. It was a cold, stormy miserable Valentines Day. Less then a dozen people showed. I don't even remember who else played that night. This unknown band gets on stage in a nowhere town and just tears through their short raging set, totally flipping out to an empty room. Probably played ten minutes. Didn't matter if anyone was there to them. No talking. Just pure, furious, raging unadulterated hardcore. And that's how they were. They'd get up rage, then get off the stage. No introduction, no asking you to move up, No asking how you were doing that night. None of that. Ten minutes. Fifteen if you were lucky. No pretension. No bullshit.
The other thing that set them apart was that they were nice guys. The nicest, friendliest guys you'd ever meet. Then they'd get up on stage maybe throw in a "thank you " or two and just destroy. You'd go up to them after words and again they were so humble. It was such an influence for Brian and I, how we conduct our selves with Backstabbers. Even to this day: Get up on stage. Be thankful and grateful, make your point with your music and get the hell off the stage. -- Matt Serven, Backstabbers, Inc