When I look at a chain-link fence, I don't see metal. I see a barrier. It’s monotonous, like each link occupies its own world apart from the next but is linked nonetheless. Gritty, rusty, rigid, and a geometric grid… a texture I call brown. It has a standard 4/4 time signature, a predictable downbeat, and something heavy. It’s the sound of being kept out—a steady, honest grind that doesn't apologize for being rough around the edges.