METZ and the Beautiful Noise That Refuses to Behave

Some bands make noise because they’re angry.

METZ makes noise because it’s the only thing that feels honest.

Toronto’s loudest export doesn’t play songs so much as detonate them. It’s violence in motion—precision chaos that feels like a live wire fraying in your gut. Every time you think you’ve caught the rhythm, it collapses and comes back harder. Their music doesn’t build. It lunges.

There’s no gloss, no arena polish, no overthought reverb. Just bone-rattling distortion, pummeling drums, and vocals that sound like someone screaming down a hallway while the building collapses. It’s brutal. And it’s beautiful. And it’s exactly what rock and roll forgot how to be.

METZ has this uncanny ability to sound both mechanical and completely unhinged. Like a factory on fire. Like a band trapped inside its own amplifier. There’s discipline behind the madness, but they never let it show. They sound like they’re losing control, even when they’re gripping it by the throat. That tension? That’s the good shit.

You can hear the lineage—Fugazi, Big Black, Jesus Lizard—but METZ doesn’t borrow. They don’t pay tribute. They weaponize the noise and carve out their own throat-scorched lane. There’s no nostalgia here. No wink. Just volume and intent.

And live? Forget it. You don’t watch a METZ show. You survive it.

They play like they’re trying to outrun something. Like they only get one shot to leave a scar. There’s sweat, there’s feedback, and there’s the kind of volume that rattles your spine and makes you question how much you actually value your eardrums. And when it’s over? You’re not clapping—you’re exhaling. You made it.

What makes METZ matter isn’t just that they’re loud. It’s that they’re loud with purpose. They strip away the frills and leave you with pure, blood-rushed catharsis. No solos. No banter. No bullshit. Just music that dares you to feel something—even if it hurts.

This isn’t a band that wants your attention.

It’s a band that wants to obliterate your apathy.

In a world where most rock bands are either playing dress-up or begging for playlist placement, METZ is the sound of three people refusing to make eye contact with the algorithm. And thank fuck for that.

They’re not here to be your background music.

They’re here to ruin your silence.