For the vast majority of their 32-minute sophomore album,
Reflections, Charlotte, NC natives
Seneca play it dark, very dark, and brutal -- as is to be expected from a youthful deathcore band of their ilk, bursting with so much pent-up rage and things to rail against in this toxic planet of ours. But there are also several times, generally just a few seconds, conspicuously placed towards the end of most of their songs (e.g. "Palehorse," "Carousels," etc.), where the group suddenly suffers a drastic metamorphosis, becoming an emo/screamo band given to heart-baring melodies and even soppy lyrics about unrequited teenage love thrown in. Odd. Just what motivates these cloud-parting displays of unabashed sensitivity is anyone's guess, but their repetitive insertion at almost precisely the same life cycle of each song is the real head-scratcher, being that they are awkward, to say the least, and unimaginative as all hell. Be that as it may,
Seneca occasionally strike upon an inventive riff or two (see "Black Gold" and "Your Heart in My Hands") and provide, not one but two of those delicate ballads (the slow-building "Illusions" and the closing title track) that will make
Reflections momentarily enjoyable to their mothers, girlfriends, pastor, etc., even as cliché-wary deathcore fans convulse on the floor, frothing at the mouth. Needless to say, this album leaves much to be desired from an originality standpoint, and although
Seneca's musicianship is decent enough, they have their homework cut out for them before anyone will able to separate them from the herd.