As El Bronx begins in a flurry of Mariachi trumpets and violins, it sounds like it could easily be a precursor to a Bronx album of the more traditional type, a calm meant to falsely lull the listener before a lurch into unremitting hardcore territory. But far from being a novelty sample from the theme tune from some Mexican sub-soap opera, El Bronx is the Bronx’s tribute to mariachi, music of a genre established long before the Bronx were ferociously shredding flakes out of defenceless musical notes.A hardcore band taking on mariachi has echoes of previous cross-cultural sojourns - Damon Albarn’s experiments with Malian music come to mind ”“ but seems all the more significant because, it’s fair to say, El Bronx is such a strong departure from the band’s previous work. The Bronx’s first three albums (all with eponymous titles, to the ire of iTunes) are pretty much relentlessly vicious. The Bronx hammer their way through songs, unashamedly stacking up brilliantly noisy riffs against grating, blood curdling vocals. No restraint, no politeness and a whole lot of bite ”“ this is the Bronx.Not so with El Bronx. All the Mariachi ingredients take the place of any subtlety: simple group harmonies, bursts of Spanish guitar, flowery violin arrangements snappily repeated over each bar, and dramatic brass-spun flourishes in place of any kind of restrained winding down. It’s a strange experience to hear Matt Caughthran’s voice projected sweetly over crooning strings and cheery trumpets. Singing about the darker side of LA and rape zombies, Caughthran tended to tear the throat out of lyrics like a thirsty Alsation, rendering them life-affirmingly inaudible. But gone is the hard fist of Caughthran’s voice, and in its place is a melodious, boyish tone.The first two tracks are the brightest lights, but from here on in there’s a sense of those lights fading. There’s some mismatch between Caughthran’s American accent and the music: it doesn’t sit perfectly amongst the drama and heart, and on occasions he sounds like he might have stepped up to the mic at a Hispanic cousin’s wedding. There’s nothing wrong with simplicity, but the melodies generally aren’t magnetic enough to engage you. Ticking standard boxes - the yearning lament, the joyous celebration ”“ makes it all feel a bit Mexican show home, instead of a proper tour of the intricacies of the inner rooms. The first two tracks aside, only ‘Clown Powder’ and ‘My Brother the Gun’ stand out as wholly successful songs in themselves, but in a way it doesn’t matter ”“ the Bronx sound like they’re enjoying themselves, plus their musical skills are in no doubt.There’s an extent to which any such experiment fails to satisfy either party particularly strongly: mariachi aficionados could well judge the album in terms of strict reference points of the genre and, of course, for archetypal Bronx fans, the album is far removed from any kind of hardcore project. It will most likely gather dust on the shelf of the band’s loyal followers after a few listens, but no matter. El Bronx works to the extent that it is a pleasing listen and a laudable journey into different territory, which should probably be judged on this basis and not on any kind of yardstick of authenticity.It’s also refreshing work from a musical subset that’s generally seen to flick the vs at other genres, though to some, it might feel like a betrayal. It’s a brave move, and shows they’re not afraid to try their hand at something entirely different, moreover a genre which isn’t generally marketable. And what could be more punk than that?El Bronx on Myspace